


Duplicity

by Latsin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blue! Loki, Dad!Loki, Fix-It, FrostIron - Freeform, Gen, Heimdall is cool, Internalized racism, Jotunn | Frost Giant, M/M, Mage! Loki, Magneto appears because I needed a villain, Odin is an idiot, Playing cards used for magic, Slow Build, Vague reference to rape, Wet Dream, mentions of torture, post Thor 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latsin/pseuds/Latsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki is sent, hurt, to the Avengers Tower, he didn't expect to find allies in Tony and Bruce, much less have his brother betray him twice in the same day. Thor just doesn't understand the reason Loki has to take over Asgard, why he hates Odin so much, or even why he tried to rule Midgard. Tony does. In fact, Tony thinks he might understand a little too much about his former enemy.</p><p>THIS STORY IS GOING ON INDEFINITE HIATUS, AND WILL AT SOME POINT IN THE FUTURE GET A REWRITE. NOT ABANDONED, BUT I CAN'T COMMIT TO A SCHEDULE OR ANY SORT OF TIMELINE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written for this verse, it's the first fic I've written with heavy focus on the romantic relationship, and it's the first fic I've written with an M/M couple. When I, eventually, get there, it will be the first fic I write that has smut in it. Really. So, lots of firsts, and I hope you like it anyway. I really do so far :)
> 
> This has been crossposted to ff.net.

“I TRUSTED YOU!” he cries, black tendrils of hair framing his head. The scrapes on his knees from the scuffle hurt and he all but glares into clear, blue eyes before repeating, “I trusted you…”  
_oOo_ 

Amidst the thundering of boots on marble floors, fingers twitch. The first indication that he has awoken again. His first perception is a relieved sigh. The steps stop and with them, the jarring feeling. A voice, usually loud and deep, whispers softly, “Brother, please forgive me…” The blackness returns before he can deliver an answer. 

Thor marches into the Bifrost, ignoring Heimdall’s weird gaze as he unceremoniously props Loki up against a corner of the room. His head lolls to the side and there’s blood dripping from the corner of his mouth to the pale marble floor, a harsh reminder of Thor’s betrayal. As he approaches the Gatekeeper, Thor’s confidence returns. “Tony Stark,” he says, his voice steady and booming, “I wish to speak with him.” Heimdall spares another look at the broken body in the corner before nodding and opening the channel with Midgard.  
_oOo_ 

Tony is not exactly having a field day. He’s flying home, exhausted since he spent all morning trying to avoid another Gulmira incident. Subtly breaking and entering, however, is not his thing so he was very quickly approached by security. He gives a shudder, one hand going up to cradle his bruised shoulder, even if right now he’s fully armored. Absently, he tells Jarvis to make a note to repair the missile launcher and, very reluctantly, tells him to remind him to speak to Natasha. Today’s failure is more than enough proof of the fact that he has to learn ninja skills. 

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis replies smoothly, and then adds, “There’s a call from Asgard, would you like me to connect Mr. Odinson?” 

Tony nods, groaning. It’s not what he had in mind for the day. Nothing seems to have gone according to his plans to get piss-drunk on whiskey and go crash a party. He’s distracted from his thoughts when a tiny image of Thor appears in his visor. His face looks grainy and Tony starts to calculate how much he should increase the frequency of the device they are using to communicate in order to achieve maximum image quality. He’s almost not paying attention to Thor until he booms, “STARK!” Now that Tony can see him, he looks twitchy. Uh-oh… What now? “I need to ask a favor of you, friend.” 

“No offense Thor, but the last time you asked me a favor it was because you broke your cell phone while doing the dirty with Jane and I did NOT want to know how that happened. Please keep it PG-13 this time.”

“It was Thor’s day, Tony, where else would I have put the phone?” Thor replies impatiently, looking at the corner behind him anxiously. Tony can’t make out what he looks at.

“I did not want to have that mental image, thank you,” he groans again. This time, however, there’s no one to reply to him as Thor has darted off towards the corner. Tony can hear murmurs and shuffles. Thor returns, his eyes somehow more desperate and his hands stained bright red. “I don’t have the time for this,” he half whispers and then addresses Tony again. “Loki has made a mistake. He’s been injured and needs to go to Midgard to hide.”

“Slow down, Goldilocks, what’d he do now? Bet the Earth and lose?”

“His head, Tony, he bargained his head and lost,” Thor’s eyes wander to the corner of the room once more, and Tony gulps. Is the thing in the corner Loki’s beheaded body? “I have to go back go help the Allfather. Will you help? Banner is at the tower, yes?” 

Tony nods and lands on the roof of said tower, allowing Jarvis to disassemble his suit and walking into the living room. “But if it’s decapitation you’re talking about, not even Doc will be able to help. And don’t expect sympathy from Clintasha, either.” That’s what they call the pair behind their backs, even though the unresolved sexual tension is still suffocating. “Seriously, though, can’t you leave him with Jane? Come with him yourself?” He rubs at his eyes.

Thor shakes his head. “I’m afraid he has caused a quarrel with the Dwarves and I must help resolve it. Jane is not home, she’s visiting some sort of underground tube where they throw atoms about.” His look is puzzled and it’s clear he doesn’t understand what he’s talking about but then he pleads again, “Will you help him?” 

Tony sighs. “Fine, though I’d rather visit the Hadron collider instead of babysitting deities.” 

“Thank you.” Thor looks relieved, “The Hawk and the Widow will be gone for the next two weeks, yes?” Tony nods and Thor continues, “Good. Loki will arrive shortly. Thank you, Tony.” 

“Take care, big guy, and hurry back.” Thor nods solemnly and his image disappears. Tony removes his hands-free device and says, “Jarvis, locate the nearest medical kit and call Bruce.”

“The nearest medical kit is in your room, sir, though it’s nearly depleted. I would suggest the kitchen, on top of the fridge.” 

Bruce arrives just as he’s sitting down in the living room again, medical kit on the glass table next to his propped feet. “You hurt?” is the first thing he asks, scanning Tony for injuries quickly. Tony shakes his head, “Bruised shoulder, I’ll be fine with ibuprofen, though. Thor called. We have an incoming battered norse god.” 

“Do you know any details? Is he okay? Did he talk to Jane?” 

“Thor’s fine,” Tony interrupts, “It’s Loki, he’s in deep shit in Asgard and got hurt. I don’t know the details but he should be here any minute. There’s blood involved.” 

Bruce nods and pulls out sterile gloves. The last time any of them saw Loki, he was being carried to Asgard in Thor’s arms. Through the last year, ever since he fulfilled his punishment for the Chitauri incident, he’s been popping up in Midgard to aid them in battle. The first time he helped, it was to save Thor from being skewered by a Doombot. Three weeks ago, Loki had been injured by Magneto, who had rendered Thor practically useless. A blow to the head from the hammer was something only a god could survive and somehow, though the start of their acquaintance was antagonistic at best, Tony’s glad Loki is on their side. This is, also, the reason Thor’s nervousness worries him. 

“Sir?” Jarvis interjects, bringing Tony back to Earth, “an Einstein-Rosen Bridge is forming in front of the TV set.”

“I see it Jarv, you know the drill. Initiate stabilizing code and start recording. Categorize the energy in wavelength charts and remind Pepper to change the carpet.”

There’s a soft beep that apparently counts as assent, and Bruce interjects, “But the carpet’s fine-” before it catches on fire before his eyes. Jarvis, now on fire-control duty since Dummy was deemed incapable of it, quickly activates the fire extinguisher, covering the carpet and the norse god that materialized there in white, fluffy foam that evaporates quickly. When Loki not only doesn’t turn around but falls to his knees, Tony rises from the couch and reaches concernedly for him, while Bruce busies himself with the kit. When he glances back at Tony, he sees a mix of anger and concern in his features. One of his hands is holding Loki’s shoulder as he says, “Jarvis, scans please.” He struggles to keep his voice even and reaches for the tablet on the living room table so he can show Bruce. In the meantime, Bruce has walked around Loki and come face to face with the damage.

There’s blood indeed, most of it slowly trickling down the god’s mouth, where thread weaves in an out of his lips, crisscrossing them shut. If the uneven breathing is any indication, there’s also bruising to the chest and ribs, if not a fracture. The way he holds his hands against his body makes Bruce think something’s wrong with them, as well. Loki opens his eyes then, and in them Bruce sees so much despair and pain he stops for a minute. 

“Do you want me to include old injuries in the scan, sir?” Jarvis asks and Tony, ever busy, replies scathingly, “What do you think? Of course not! What for?” 

Jarvis stays silent and Tony sucks in a breath, glancing at Loki as he compares the result of the scans. He turns the tablet towards Bruce, who is taking out a disinfectant wipe. Bruce nods and reaches for Loki’s face, but the god shrinks back, grimacing and tearing a stitch in his lips. 

“Loki?” Tony asks, his hand going back to Loki’s shoulder. “Loki that’s just Bruce, he’s harmless.” 

It’s not after he says it that he remembers a Loki-shaped imprint that was left on his penthouse floor a year ago. Even with his magic, it took Loki a good half hour to heal from the pummeling. Loki remembers as well, it seems, and he manages to glare at Tony as if berating him for the idea, even if he shrinks back from Bruce in the process. His chest is heaving in ragged, painful-sounding breaths. The glare turns into a pleading gaze. 

Tony locks eyes with Bruce, who shrugs indifferently and hands him a new pair of gloves, reaching for the tablet. “Fine,” Tony sighs, “Not a word to Barton, though. Or Steve.”

He puts on the gloves and reaches for the wipe. Loki looks more relaxed, and nods when Tony asks for permission to clean the puncture wounds. He hisses out a breath through his nose at the sting, but nonetheless makes an effort to remain still while Tony, with Bruce’s instruction, reaches out to cut through the thread. The process is long and tiring, and Loki grunts every time a cut thread is pulled loose, but after a while, there’s a last “snip” and a sting and he can open his mouth again. The first thing he does is pull in a big breath of air, even if the movement makes his ribs flash pain for a second, but after that he hangs down his had and starts muttering, “Stupid, bloody idiot, can’t believe I trusted him…” 

Absently, he clumsily grabs the wipe Tony offers and presses it to the tiny wounds in his mouth, taking a deep breath through his nose. When he tosses the now red wipe, he seems calmer. “Sorry, Banner,” he says, “I meant no disrespect.”

“Don’t worry,” Bruce replies, his eyes drifting back to the tablet as he asks, “Do you know what a broken rib feels like?”

Loki nods. “Bruising only,” he explains, the movement of his lips making tiny drops of blood gather on the puncture wounds. 

“Caused by?” Bruce prods as Tony hands Loki another wipe, going to look at the tablet along with Bruce. Loki stiffens, refusing to meet either pair of curious eyes as he says, in a whisper, “Mjölnir.” He sighs, refusing to look at the two astonished faces before him. He knows what that means, he knows what they’ll see, and he prepares for a jokingly uttered ‘What did you do this time, Reindeer Games?’ from Tony, or Bruce’s stern, disbelieving stare. 

“Thor?!” Tony questions, sounding surprised, and as Loki finally looks up, he sees one pair of eyes like saucers, trained on him. It’s a small relief to know that, at least, Tony apparently believes him. Bruce is staring at him with a quizzical expression, his lack of larger reaction a caution trained from years of realizing that sometimes, things are not as they seem.

“Yes,” he replies simply, not wanting to go into detail and relive the experience. He closes his eyes and reaches deep inside, consciousness curling around his newly recovered magic, fashioning a suitable healing spell, and takes a deep breath as preparation to casting it. The twinge of pain from his side is a brief distraction, and he thinks it’s a little more complicated to access his magic than usual, but then again he’s suffered major injuries and remembers exhausting his magic while healing his hands right after Thor dumped him back in his cell, lips sewn shut, so the fact comes as no surprise. Yet. It’s only when the wisps of green flames curling around his gloved fingers dissipate that he realizes he’s in deep trouble. He clenches his eyes shut, breathes, and tries again with the same results. 

Unable to fight off a shiver, he opens his eyes and scrambles to remove the gloves, eventually reaching to pull them off with his teeth. 

“Loki?” Stark asks, and it’s clear he is worried for the sorcerer, who moves shakily with suddenly wild eyes and then stills, shoulders slumped, with a soft whisper of “No…” 

Loki has his hands in front of him, and in the bright overhead lights Tony and Bruce can see deep red lines crisscrossing his palms, curling around his wrists and disappearing beneath the sleeves of the dark grey robe. More wounds? They share a concerned glance. 

The robe falls to the ground, the dark fabric pooling on white marble, and Loki holds up his arms, examining the cuts as if it’s the first time he sees them. “No… No… No, no nonono!” Loki’s cries, gaining desperation by the second, and Tony can’t help but cringe when he turns again. The square-looking bruises on his ribs stand out against pale skin, his chest heaving with each breath. Definitely Thor’s hammer, constricting Loki’s ribs, and the god trying to squirm away. The lines stop at the crook of Loki’s elbow, and now Tony can see they compose of tiny symbols. 

“What do they mean?” he asks, carefully placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder and reaching for one of his arms, disinfectant wipes coming away with a reverse imprint of the norse symbols engraved in Loki’s skin. Loki groans and takes the wipe from Tony, rubbing it up and down his arm as if he believes it will remove the words. Unsuccessful, he takes to pulling his hair. 

“That wasn’t Mjölnir,” Bruce comments quietly to Loki’s slumped back. Loki shakes his head and heaves a shuddering sigh, pulling the robe back over his head. “Gugnir,” he mumbles defeatedly, holding one forearm with his other hand and watching as a few cuts pull open and start to bleed. He gives a shaky, panicked laugh that speaks more of fearful disbelief than amusement. 

“I can’t even shapeshift,” he whispers, still staring blankly at his arms. He stops Tony when he tries to bind the wounds, gulps, and traces one of the lines with his finger. Somehow, seeing Stark and Banner believe him makes it important that they know the full extent of his situation. “It’s a binding spell,” he says while pointing to the line that wraps around his wrist, tracing it until it ends at his pinky finger, “along with its protection clauses.” Of course. Odin wouldn’t leave his precious stolen relic from Jötunheimr to be killed on Midgard. 

“So your magic’s bust, then?” Tony asks in his disinhibited fashion. 

“For all intents and purposes, yes. I can only defend myself, and even then the spell I perform comes at a cost. Harm will still be done to me, only mitigated by the protection Odin so thoughtfully carved into my skin.” The last part is mostly an enraged mutter and he takes a deep breath before pointing to another line. 

“This is a healing spell, and… oh, that’s rich. Concealment spell. I can’t show my true nature. I have virtually no magic and no chance at all to change into a Frost Giant. Thank you very much, Allfather.” 

He slumps further and finally lets Tony bandage him. When he’s done Loki stands and says, “I’m going to my room.” 

Tony and Bruce nod, waving him off as he takes the lift. There’s a routine feeling to the ease with which Loki moves about the tower; he knows his way around from his increasingly frequent visits, but it’s hard to imagine him being alone right now. Tony remembers what coming home from Afghanistan felt like, the subconscious feeling of alertness that will never go away, the fear of more torture. However much Loki would like to downplay it, what was done to him is torture and he’ll probably have PTSD sometime. Tony can tell from the way he left the living room, shoulders slouched protectively, eyes too attentive. 

With a sigh, Tony stops considering Loki and turns to Bruce, who’s rearranging the medical kit. “Thor did that?” he asks, not knowing how he’ll ever see the norse god to the eye again. 

Bruce shrugs, “I’m not going to say Loki had it coming, but I don’t doubt Thor would turn on him. It’s a different culture. Honor matters more to them, cowardice merits punishment. Besides, you know Thor can’t refuse to anything Odin asks. You’ll have to ask Thor, though.”

“That’s one conversation I’m not looking forward to,” he replies before reaching to roll up the charred remains of the carpet.

_oOo_ 

Loki slams the door to his room shut. While he’s been spending more time there, the Tower still feels strange, foreign. His room is too bare, too impersonal. Not like home. Then again, his quarters in Asgard don’t feel all that homey either. There is, in fact, only one place he feels like he truly belongs, and it’s the one place in all of Asgard that he’s strictly forbidden from visiting. It’s not as if that fact stopped him, really, from going into the stables and sitting down next to Sleipnir, but it’s still a sign of how ruthless Odin is towards his adopted son. Right now, Loki wishes he could curl up against the horse’s flank, calmed by its deep breaths. He scoffs. He wouldn’t get past the guards without his magic, and then again who does he have to thank for that? Dearest Allfather. 

In a fit of rage, he reaches for his magic again. He can feel it, curling and twisting inside him, straining to obey his wishes, but as it gets to his wrist, flowing though his veins, the line of symbols around it constricts, burning deeper, and the flow of magic stops. His hands feel numb. He hates the feeling, turns his hate towards the cruelty of the fact. Without his magic, he feels like an empty shell, and to tempt him with the knowledge that the power is there, within reach, but he can’t harness it, is meaner than just taking his might away. He keeps trying anyway, his arms growing leaden after a while, his skin tingling with the feeling of pins and needles, his hands numb. There’s a dull ache at his wrists which, he discovers when he looks, is caused by the cuts he just deepened. There’s red seeping through the bandages. He’s fairly certain the line on his pinky means he can perform a simple healing spell, but he’d rather leave the wounds as they are than tempt himself with what pitiful amount of power he has. Besides, he finds the pain to be a suitable form of self-punishment, as well as distracting him from his thoughts.

He sighs, laying down on the bed, thinking of Sleipnir, his Sleipnir, and of what he’ll do to get back to him. He didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, and he can’t ask Thor to relay the message, because he would ask this of Thor, he would forgive him his betrayal if he would only… But it would be futile, Thor may be an oaf but he’s not stupid; he would suspect something because, in the end, why would Loki want to speak to Odin’s horse so badly? Thor would never understand. And, if by chance, Odin found out, Sleipnir would be cast out. Loki remembers the exact words Odin said as he allowed for the tiny foal Loki carried to stay in Asgard. “I will accept him as an offering of peace, Loki, and allow him in the city, as long as no one ever discovers your travesty.”

A tear escapes Loki’s eye at the memory, followed by many more shed for his current predicament. He doesn’t sleep. It’s hours later when he finally grows tired of tossing and turning on the bed, and decides to go to the living room again. 

He finds Tony there, slumped on the couch and illuminated only by the light of the screen and his arc reactor. Loki stands in the entrance of the room, Tony’s back to him. 

“Stop sulking in the shadows, Reindeer Games,” Tony says and pats the space on the couch next to him. Loki rolls his eyes at the nickname, but obeys just the same. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

Loki looks at Tony pointedly, the answer is an obvious no. 

“Nightmares?” Tony prods, going into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

“I call it reality, Stark.” Loki sighs.

“Right.” He points his cup of coffee at Loki. “Want one? If you’re not going to sleep anyway you might as well feel less miserable about it.”

“Less miserable how?” Loki asks, but nods all the same. Tony flashes him a grin and shows him a flask he produced from next to the coffee machine. He pours liquor into both cups and walks back to the couch to hand Loki his drink. As Loki grabs the mug, however, Tony’s eyes narrow. “Jarvis, lights,” he commands, setting down both mugs on the coffee table.

“Let me see,” he demands, reaching for a bandaged arm and glaring at Loki when he sees the soaked-through gauze. “What did you do?” he asks, unwrapping bloody fabric. 

“I was angry,” is all Loki can provide as an explanation, though he winces along with Tony when he sees how much deeper the cuts are. 

“These will need stitches,” Tony says, standing up again to get the first aid kit. 

“No.” Loki’s back stiffens at the prospect of a needle, and he sits ramrod straight, cradling his hands against his chest. In his mind, he replays the memory of having his lips sewn shut, eliciting a shudder. “I can heal them,” he blurts out when he sees Tony about to reply.

Tony glares. “Then why haven’t you done so by now? Damn, Loki who the fuck knows what goes on in your crazy head.” 

Loki ignores the comment, closes his eyes and casts a spell, minding his magic carefully, feeding a tiny bit of healing energy towards his hands. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he feels sparks dancing on his hands. With tiny nudges from his fingers, he directs the magic towards the deepest cuts. It’s a long process, but in minutes he feels the skin coming back together. He lets out a sigh when the flow of magic is blocked again. It feels like losing one of his senses. 

Tony nods when he examines his hands again. The cuts are less deep, but still there. “I thought you didn’t have magic,” he comments as he starts rewrapping Loki’s arms. 

“This isn’t magic,” Loki replies with a harsh edge to his voice, “this is a parlor trick in comparison. The feeling is fucking ridiculous.” They slip into silence, only broken by a quiet “Thanks” from Loki as Tony finishes with the gauze. Both of them turn their attention towards the TV set, sipping quietly on cold coffee, relishing in the odd calm that has settled over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was edited to remove a small inconsistency.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning comes and, with it, the realization that Tony and Loki can’t remain idly sitting on the couch, eyes lost to the TV screen. With a sigh, Tony stands and stretches, groaning in relief when he feels a couple of vertebrae pop. Loki’s thoughts are muddled, the memories of last night still not thoroughly processed, and this leaves him standing up and heading for the shower in his room in a daze. He shuts his eyes tightly before getting in, refusing to look at his own miserable, tired face before at the very least cleaning himself up a bit. The steam from the shower soothes him immediately, even if he still has to avoid getting his arms wet. The soap stings his healing wounds, but in the end he feels a lot better after having the water rain on him for a while. With a small sigh, he turns off the shower. A couple of gashes on his forearms have reopened, though he ignores them in favor of wiping the steam off the mirror above the sink with one hand and finally looking at himself. 

With his long, black hair framing his face in wet tendrils, he looks even paler than he should. His eyes look sunken and tired, and he purses his lips in disgust when he sees the red marks the needle has left in his face. Very few of them retain the form of punctures, instead having been elongated into small lines because of his wild thrashing… Loki shuts his eyes, shaking himself and refusing to think of that again. He grabs his clothes off the rack, dressing himself swiftly in dark blue jeans and a grey shirt, and towels his hair more or less dry. 

His room has been tidied while he was in the bathroom, his asgardian gear taken away for cleaning, presumably. It had been a while until Loki had gotten used to Stark’s various robots managing the tower, but in the end Loki has to admit it’s good to know he can rely on them to do their work. He makes his way over to the bathroom again, returning with a damp towel to clean his forearms with as he takes a seat on the desk. If he thinks it through, he knows it’s very unlikely his magic will have returned to him overnight, but he still holds out hope as he focuses and tries to maneuver the energy over into his forearms, forming it into a healing spell.

Hope, he remembers, is a very cruel thing. 

Instead of healing the cuts like it had last night, the green fire he manages to conjure sears into his skin like hot knives, effectively and fairly painfully stopping the slight bleeding. He lets out a hiss and can see smoke drifting up from his skin on the places the spell was supposed to heal. 

A warning, then, not to get too greedy with whatever power he has. “Thank you, Allfather,” he gripes quietly when the shock of the sudden burn has subsided. He gives a breathless, humorless laugh and looks toward the ceiling, absently wondering if everyone does the same when addressing Jarvis. 

“Could you do some energy readings for me, please?” he asks the A.I.

“Certainly, sir,” the omniscient voice replies, “would you like me to chart the results?”

“Yes,” Loki says, searching his head for a spell simple enough to perform with his current limitations. He settles for a tiny green flame nestled in the palm of his hand. The spell emits a soft glow, but no actual heat, and Loki frowns at it as it starts to sputter and finally dies. 

“Time?”

“Forty-two seconds,” says Jarvis.

Loki sighs, cranes his neck to both sides, and nods. “Again.”

_.oOo._

By the time he’s finally satisfied with the results Jarvis shows him, the bandages on his arms have unraveled. He carelessly tucks the ends underneath the rest of the fabric and heads out of his room to find Tony. 

Despite only coming to the tower to crash after his wilder adventures (also known as saving Thor’s ass), Loki knows his way around the tower and it’s not long before he’s knocking on the glass door of Tony’s workshop, having encountered Bruce in the kitchen and been told to fetch the elusive engineer for dinner. 

“Hey, Prince of Darkness!” Tony calls from behind a soldering mask, “Give me a while and I’ll be out.”

Loki stands with his back to the glass wall and toys with forming shapeless, incorporeous ice crystals in the palm of his hand, finding these much easier than some of his common spells. Several minutes later, Tony walks out the door, having changed his shirt and washed his face and hands. 

“Loki, what the hell?” Tony starts muttering when he sees the sorcerer’s hands, “Dammit, Jarvis, I asked you for one thing!”

“In my defense, sir,” Jarvis interjects softly, “you also asked me to aid Mr. Laufeyson if he wished it.”

Mentally, Tony notes the grimace in Loki’s face at the use of the word ‘Laufeyson’. He still thinks that goes over better than ‘Odinson’ would have, but reminds himself to have Jarvis try a few variants later. 

“Loki,” he admonishes gently, taking the left forearm in his hands and poking gently at the loose bandages, trying to avoid the slowly disappearing ice Loki is cradling, “if you know this is going to happen, why do you insist on making it worse?”

Loki looks down and winces as Tony keeps poking. The skin of his hands is sore as if scalded, but he still prefers it to the feeling of deprivation his blocked magic gives him. All the same, he sighs and takes a deep breath as the crystals vanish. Ignoring Tony for a moment, he asks, “How long?” 

Jarvis replies, “Two minutes and three seconds, sir.” 

He nods slowly and lets Tony unravel the rest of the fabric, apparently deciding the rows of symbols don’t need to be rewrapped (Loki measured some healing spells before and the cuts are all but scars now, barring a single symbol on the pad of his left forefinger). Loki gestures to the elevator with a mutter of “Dinner,” and they start moving towards it.

“You have heard Thor give his opinion on magic, yes?” Loki asks as the doors close.

Tony says, “Yeah, that what you call magic is the equivalent of science, right?”

“Do you agree with him?”

Tony shakes his head. “I think science is too complicated for magic to compare. I don’t mean to say that magic isn’t difficult, but the way I see it, it’s more instinctual. You don’t have to measure and think and process data and experiment, you just tell magic what to do and it obeys. Am I making any sense?”

Loki chuckles low in his throat, flexing his stiff fingers back to mobility. “Your basic idea is not wrong.” Tony rolls his eyes; he’d forgotten how condescending Loki can get, but lets him continue anyway. “Magic and science are by no means the same, even if they are different approaches to one thing: Energy. You are right about one thing, though. Magic is instinctual in a way.” They have almost reached the kitchen and Tony is still listening raptly. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees Banner turn his head, clearly interested by the topic, as he serves something that smells like Indian spices and tomato and hands Loki and Tony their dishes. 

“You can teach someone how to do science,” Loki continues after humming Banner his thanks, “setting parameters and recording results and analyzing data can all be taught. Magic is different. You have to be born with it, there is no way to learn it. You midgardians have found ways to harness energy through science, but that is different from how a sorcerer interacts with it. A sorcerer’s power comes from being so intrinsically bound to energy that it becomes possible to control it. In this, though, lies the reason I have to keep doing this,” Loki holds up his left hand, the ice crystals solidifying on his palm. 

“But you said your magic was bust,” Tony says from across the table.

“It is,” Loki replies looking at his hand in concentration, “these are mere parlour tricks, I told you. However, even to tempt me with this meager amount of power is, I suppose, part of my punishment.” 

The ice flickers out of existence again and Loki sighs, looking towards the ceiling until Jarvis says, “Three minutes and twenty-one seconds.”

“Well,” Tony interjects, “at least that’s still better than the last time.”

“Not good enough,” replies Loki, digging into his food with more force than is necessary. Both Tony and Bruce exchange a glance, clearly thinking this ties into Loki’s second-born-complex, and the rest of the meal is spent in an awkward silence. 

_oOo_

Throughout the next week, Loki discovers the limitations of the contract etched into his skin. He hopes, but is not entirely certain, that Odin has made it so that he can regain his magic once he is deemed “worthy”. In the meantime, though, magic sings to him, boils in his veins, always just a hair’s breadth out of his reach. This leaves him increasingly annoyed and tense, hands now more often than not trembling with restrained energy.  
Loki takes to his room more often than not ever since he walked in on Steve and Bruce whispering over the kitchen counter. He manages to catch a soft, “Thor wouldn’t do that.” from Steve before deciding he’s really not in the mood for this. He manages to avoid confrontation with Clint and Nat by the very mature decision of refusing to come down to dinner, marking the end of the second week he’s unwillingly resided at Avengers Tower.

In the end, when the collapse comes, it isn’t loud. There’s something to be said for the irony that, even though he is not the god of lies, he has become that much of an expert deluding people that no one even realizes how far gone he is. Himself least of all. But when his magic crackles, searing his nerves and trying to find a way out, turning inwards in fury, he remembers why he can’t give up. 

He has to fight the tiny runes sealing his power, sealing his senses, dulling life itself, because it’s magic that will finally set him free. It’s the knowledge that somewhere, galaxies far away, there is this one being whose energy resonates with his own, who is product of his past, who is made of his flesh, and whose very core sings with Loki’s own. 

_oOo_

 

There is one more foray into trying to destroy the symbols (which Tony has figured out is what the self-harming is meant to do), after which the mortal says teasingly, “Loki, we have got to stop meeting like this,” as an attempt to coax him out of hiding, relegated to nurse duty again. It backfires spectacularly in his face only days later when he walks in on Loki trying to change the bandages around a patch of skin that looks uglier and meaner than some of the local villains. As it turns out, gods, or perhaps just this god, is balls at cleaning and healing without magic.

“Seriously, Hocus Pocus, what’s got your robes in a knot?” Tony asks him while applying the last of a series of butterfly bandages on Loki’s forefinger, covering a jagged line that crosses a single symbol Tony thinks is an “s”, “I haven’t seen you move around the tower for a few days. If it weren’t for Jarvis, I’d think you’d died on us.”

Loki swallows and says slowly, “I’ve merely been trying to work around the runes.” His voice is gritty from disuse.

Tony tsks softly, mouth curving up in the beginnings of a grin, “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want me to buy it.”

“Has it occurred to you that I may have no intention of ‘selling it’?” Loki replies, eyes flashing angrily for a moment before turning back down to examine his scarred forearms. Anything other than looking at Stark’s smug face.

“Look,” Tony starts, making eye contact, “I built a suit in a cave full of terrorists.” Loki cocks an eyebrow, unsure of where this is going, “I know a thing or two about hiding secret plans.”

Loki flinches almost imperceptibly because there’s no way the only person in this tower who still thinks he’s innocent believes he has another plot for world domination in the works. 

“You have been avoiding us,” Tony continues, mindless to Loki’s distress, “and even though I get Bruce, Clint and Nat, why would you avoid me and Steve? Especially since we’re the ones who can get you news from Asgard. Or Bruce and I could try to bypass the symbols altogether.”

“There is no news from Asgard that would interest me,” Loki says nonchalantly. He is, of course, lying through his teeth and thinking of the last time he heard Thor make vague mentions of Slepinir. 

“Oh, really?” Tony raises his chin defiantly, “Because even if Thor was the one to sow your mouth shut,” Loki flinches, “I still remember there being a prize on your head. And Odin, taking away your mumbo-jumbo when you need it most. It sounds to me like you could use the support of a few recognized superheroes right about now,” he points to himself and the door, in turn.

“You know nothing, you insolent little mortal,” Loki almost hisses, stretching to his full height and towering over Stark, “I am a god, and you dare insinuate I am helpless?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m saying it outright. You have no magic and no weapons. There’s a reason you’re desperate to regain your magic, and it’s deeper than whatever weird kink you sorcerers have with energy. You can’t solve this with violence or you would have taken off with the kitchen knives long ago.”

“Shut up, Tony.” Is all Loki can say. They’re both standing in front of each other, Tony even leaning into the balls of his feet and crowding Loki, who’s only getting angrier by the minute. 

“This isn’t my fault and you know it. You would gain nothing of hurting me or the Avengers.” There’s a look of realization growing on his features, and Loki is afraid. “Not even harming Thor would do you any good.” There’s a moment of silence, broken only by Loki’s angry and panicked huffing, and then Tony backs down, sits again and leans his elbows on his knees. 

“You don’t resent Thor what he did. You feel it was justified; he saved your neck. Literally!This is between you and Odin.” 

Loki deflates slowly, coming to sit as well, and says, very softly, “Quiet. Shut up, Stark.”

“It’s not about the throne,” Tony says in a breath, eyes coming to rest on Loki’s forearms and then lifting to meet an insecure gaze, “It was never about the throne. It was never just a brother problem.”

“Stark, please…” Loki whispers, breaking his gaze and looking down at his shoes, but he doesn’t know if he’s asking Tony to continue or to drop the subject. 

“It’s always the same rune that won’t heal… Every time you overdo it, it’s always the same rune that ends up bleeding. So, Loki… Who is ‘S’?”

Loki snarls and shakes, and yes, Tony has definitely overstepped his mark. “Out!” he yells, arms clutching the armrests of his chair, and getting up to give Tony a hard shove towards the door as he fails to comply. The engineer glares, but raises his hands nonetheless, walking backwards out of the room with a disgruntled expression. Loki goes to his bedroom, indulging in his flair for the dramatic as he throws himself on the bed, and lifts his left hand up towards his face, tracing the sharp lines and angles of an “s” with a fingernail. This particular one, he knows, will be the last to heal, and he has taken to poking and stroking the raised skin with his thumb. He falls asleep long minutes later, stroking his thumb over medical tape.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes only a few days for Loki to integrate into the regular workings of Avengers Tower. He learns to get up every morning, dress, leave his room, and make his way to Breakfast. Yes, the capital B is necessary, he believes, for it is then when life with the Avengers is at its most honest. 

Breakfast begins with a sleepy Tony coming down from the penthouse (or up from his workshop), and making a vague mumble of “Coffee…”. Loki, always an early riser, gets to watch as the engineer yawns and then sets his head on the table, where it will remain until the coffee is ready, and refuse to participate in conversation until his first cup is empty. After this, he will stretch up, and Loki gets to observe as his T-shirt rides up and Tony proceeds to scratch his stomach. All of this should be somewhat disgusting, but Loki finds it endearing, in a way. (What? No.)

Next up is Dr. Banner, who will drag himself to the kitchen in pajamas that are as tattered as they can get without wholly disintegrating. He will pour water from the still warm kettle, drop a teabag in his cup, and raise it in Loki’s direction in thanks. Once Loki had noticed he and Banner both had a habit of making tea in the mornings, he’d made a couple of attempts to ease the doctor’s life. While brewing his tea for him was out of the equation (Banner had left it on the counter and later poured down the sink in what Loki believes is remaining distrust), leaving the kettle on the stove seems to make him happy. And a happy Banner means no Hulk. 

Once Loki starts to make his way to the breakfast bar, Banner will push up his glasses and crawl half into the refrigerator, the first person to get some headway on the issue of food. The amount that makes its way onto the counters is not as big as it could be, though, since Thor is in Asgard. 

Out of the elevator comes Captain America, then, fully clothed and recently showered from his morning workout. While growing up in Asgard, Loki thought he was a morning person. That opinion has, since then, been obliterated by the military habits of the man in front of him. Rogers will give him a wary glance, as if surprised Loki’s still there, but will turn around and help with the cooking quickly enough. 

Once the food is done, usually a mixture of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and pancakes, Barton will climb down from wherever it is that he usually resides, and come into the kitchen via the window. He will usually be in full gear, and will stuff himself with food at an alarming speed before the Widow joins them. Loki believes this is so he has a chance to chatter animately at Tony and Banner, neither of which is sufficiently awake for his liveliness at this point. Barton doesn’t seem to mind. 

The woman will take a plate of food with her to her rooms, and said plate will appear in the sink ten minutes later, when she and Barton march out of the Tower in full synchronization. 

Loki will then look pointedly at Tony, who will just steal bites of food off everyone’s plate, and then Tony will start packing whatever remains back in the fridge, still eating off the Tupperware. Banner will go dress and Loki will usually do the dishes. This menial task is one the good Captain is usually saddled with, a perk of caring for a team of grown children, but since Loki has so far been allowed at their table and sharing their meals, he has started ‘helping out’, as Rogers once put it kindly. 

He is somewhat relieved to be allowed to do this, since it means the Avengers are starting to trust him. He doesn’t feel like himself as of late, his latest plan to ‘take over Asgard’ having failed. It feels as if the fight has left him, and he feels truly helpless without his magic. The feeling of it, locked away and looking for freedom, often has him stressed, but he lacks any malicious intent now. Odin’s latest punishment made sure of it. Usually, the several cups of herbal tea he drinks a day manage to keep his nervous energy at bay, which, he supposes, is yet another thing he has in common with Banner, but today Thor is supposed to return with Odin’s verdict for Loki’s latest transgressions. 

And Loki can’t help but feel slighted in advance for whatever tactless way Thor will deliver news of his fate. Because the month he’s been stranded on Midgard, magicless and without news of Odin or Thor has been peaceful (other than the fact that he sometimes wishes he could crawl out of his overenergized skin, that is). There has been no plotting and no worrying about what could happen to Sleipnir (and yes, that loss is still a sore spot and he misses his son dearly, but in the end Sleipnir’s safer when Loki is far away and not angering Odin). 

(The best he can hope for, Loki supposes, is to be told to stay put, under the watchful eyes of the Avengers, without his power, but away from where he could further harm the only person that matters to him.)

(Then again, if he ever manages to regain his magic, he will have to see about coming to visit because he spent his earlier years completely ignored by his so-called father, and his most recent ones defying said father.)

(And his son, his very young son, will not grow up without knowing he is loved. He won’t. So Loki had better find a way to get back to him, soon, before Sleipnir ever feels lonely and--)

“Loki?” 

The mug he was holding in his hands falls to the floor, and the sound from the impact snaps Loki back to reality. He’s breathing heavily, his back tense, and his hands now clenched at his sides. Stark, who was watching television on the sofa behind him, is now standing next to him. 

Loki swallows, breathes, and asks, “Yes?”

“You back with us, buddy?”

Loki can’t look at him just yet, so he just makes a conscious effort to relax and nods. 

“It’s just, you were staring at that mug like it offended you, and I think you managed to freeze the sink solid. And your nose is bleeding.”

It’s true. The dishes that were soaking are now encased in ice, and the metal of the sink has a light layer of frost over it. When he goes to touch his nose, his hand comes away red. 

“It’s nothing,” he replies, but thanks Tony when he hands him a napkin. 

“Yeah. Right,” Tony says sarcastically, “because you haven’t been stressing out over Thor and because you have your magical energy stuff under perfect control. Come with me,” he decides with a playful smirk on his face. He walks to the elevator and calls it down. Loki stays next to the frozen sink. “There’s nothing you can do with those,” he points at the dishes, “more frozen than the Capsicle,” Tony calls back, and Loki huffs out a laugh and follows. 

Somehow, they both end up on the gym floor, wearing protection gear, Tony with a pair of workout pants and the T-shirt he crawled to the kitchen in, and Loki in a simple tunic and leather pants. They step onto the hard mats Natasha insisted on installing for martial arts training. 

“Remind me, Stark,” Loki says, “what is this supposed to accomplish?”

“You’ve been moodier than a 90’s vampire protagonist lately. Hence me calling you Prince of Darkness. So, if this magic mumbo-jumbo issue sticks to the laws of physics, energy transforms.” Tony shakes his hands and starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Loki lifts a brow.

“Look, it was either this, or sex.” Tony snaps, “And Natasha’s taken, ergo, this seemed like the safe choice. So, come at me, bro.” He raises a guard and waits for Loki to move. 

“You really have no sense of self-preservation,” Loki says, but starts to circle around Tony nonetheless.

“First time you came into the tower, I offered you a drink and you tossed me out the window. Was there ever any doubt?” Tony shrugs apologetically.

“Point taken,” Loki says, and strikes. 

Every further attempt at conversation stops then, as they each focus on the to-and-fro of punching and blocking. Without Loki’s asgardian strength, they are evenly matched. Loki is much faster and seems to dance away from the punches, but Tony has a much better defense and packs a harder punch. Tony manages to corner the taller man and delivers a series of jabs toward Loki’s ribcage, but Loki manages to land a punch to Tony’s cheekbone and escape the assault. The fight continues until both are breathing heavily and Loki’s on the ground. Tony chuckles, and Loki uses one of his legs to bring Tony down with him. 

“Hey!” exclaims Tony, glaring at him. Loki holds the glare for all of five seconds, but then Tony starts laughing, and the sorcerer can’t help but join in with quiet chuckles. 

“Feel better?” Tony asks once he’s managed to calm down. The only reply he gets is a long, inarticulate grunt, which sends him into another fit of laughter. 

Once they manage to pick themselves off the floor, they each head for a shower and a change of clothes. Loki returns to the living room, holding a Stark tablet and settling down to read. Tony is already there, holding a stylus and revising contracts. He makes small annotations on the margins and forwards them to Pepper to redraft. Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner sit in front of the television and watch a documentary about the space center, Rogers throwing Tony side glances every time the name Howard Stark is spoken. 

It is to this scene of near-domestic bliss that Thor arrives, heralded by Jarvis, who announces, 

“Sirs, there is an Einstein-Rosen bridge forming in the room.”

“You know the drill, Jarv,” Tony replies, and everyone stands up and moves to the edges of the room. 

“Initiating stabilizing sequence,” the A.I. says, and then announces, “Portal is stable.”

Thor stands in the room and booms, 

“Brothers-in-arms, it is good to see you. But friend Tony, what happened to your face? Was there battle while I was gone?”

“Nah,” Tony replies with a smile, “Loki punched me.”

“Loki?” Thor’s eyes seek the trickster’s, and his tone is chastising. 

Loki sighs and turns to Stark, “You started it.”

“Yeah, okay, I had that coming,” Tony chuckles. “Serve me right for lowering my guard,” he muses. 

“A friendly spar, then?” Thor smiles. “And my brother managed to defeat you, man of iron?”

“Technically, it was a tie,” Tony says, at the same time as Loki mutters, “I’m not your brother.”

The room falls silent. After a while of glares between the asgardians, Bruce asks, 

“Are you staying to eat, Thor?”

“Yes,” he replies, then turns to Loki and sits down on the sofa, “I have managed to pacify the dwarves and have spoken to father-”

“Your father, you mean,” Loki interrupts snidely.

“To the Allfather,” Thor resumes, visibly annoyed, “and he says you are to remain here, and that you may prove yourself worthy of your magic once more.”

“Great. And then, will I be able to return to Asgard? I tire of this realm.”

Thor falls silent and, realizing what that means, Bruce and Steve start to leave the room. Tony just sits there, head turning like a spectator at a tennis match. 

“Thor?” Loki prompts.

Thor sighs and rests his elbows on his knees, “Odin is reluctant to allow you to return,” he says finally. “I am certain I may yet convince him, but he is less approachable ever since mother… Well.” Thor trails off. 

Loki is frozen on his spot, putting on a mask of indifference, but there is only one thought in his head. 

(Sleipnir. I must be allowed to return, for him.)

“Of course,” Thor continues, oblivious, “you must be allowed back to collect Idunn’s apple, and to perform your court duties, and speak to the magic instructors back home, but the Allfather seems set on having you reside on Midgard from now on. I shall talk to him when I return. For now, though, I might visit Lady Jane.”

“Woah, Point Break, don’t you think you should go back now and fix this?” Tony interjects, setting down his work.

“I promise, Tony, that I will return as soon as I can. But the bridge has not been repaired yet, and so my father has been forced to cooperate with Heimdall and find new ways to travel within realms. I can’t travel back quite yet.”

“Heimdall is your all-seeing dude, right?”

Thor nods. “Which reminds me, Loki, he wanted you to have this. I did not know you were friends.”

Loki frowns, stretching out his hand, and says, “We aren’t.” 

It’s true, he and Heimdall have never been in particularly good terms, but the All-Seer seems to allow Loki some transgressions because he knows his motives. He knows about Svadilfari, and about Loki’s sneak visits to the stables. It’s the reason he has never told Odin about Loki encasing him in ice with the Casket of Ancient Winters, and the reason he usually turns a blind eye whenever Loki uses his hidden pathways between realms. And Heimdall is not allowed to leave his post at the Rainbow Bridge. Ever. 

So, while they are not friendly towards one another, Loki knows Heimdall respects him, as he respects Heimdall. This is why, when Loki opens his hand and finds, within it, a delicately woven bracelet, he frowns, then determinedly ties it to his wrist, and tightly says, 

“Excuse me,” before heading for the Gym again. He doesn’t ask Tony to follow him, because the mortal is tired from their earlier workout, but he has the sudden desire to unleash his anger. He clenches and unclenches his fists the whole elevator ride down, and starts hitting a punching bag as soon as he can, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears. 

Because the material of the bracelet is, Loki is sure, hair from a horse’s mane. And Odin needs dark magic in order to power the transportation until the bridge is repaired. Dark magic like Loki’s own. And Thor’s been traveling back and forth between the realms using the magic of Loki’s son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been a BAD author. BAD me. I went through some personal stuff in the summer and then school happened, so I really haven't had time to update in a while but it's been too long! So sorry about that. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to get this up before new year's so happy belated christmas and happy new year! I promise to update more regularly in 2015! (Author with the lame excuses retires sheepishly) See you soon!

Loki wakes to gritty eyes and sore muscles. Sighing heavily, he makes his way to the living room to attend Breakfast, now including the mighty Thor. He’s surprised to find Stark already there, and on his second cup of coffee of the day, if his conversational skills are any indication. Either Stark is moving too fast or Loki is too slow, but Tony speaks, “Hey, Loki, sorry, gotta dash back to the lab, I left Jarvis with the renders for a new suit and they should be done about now.”

As Tony turns around, holding his third cup of coffee, Loki can only blink blearily. “Wow,” Tony says, finally slowing down. “You all right there, Hocus Pocus?”

“Leave it, Stark,” he answers with a sigh, reaching around the other man to get to his tea. 

“Aaaaand with that, you just basically gave me permission to meddle,” he says with a grin, pointing at Loki’s face with his cup of coffee. “You’re way more interesting than my renders now, anyway. So what is it?”

“I don’t feel like arguing with you,” Loki counters dryly and turns his back, walking away briskly. 

“Are you mad at me?” Tony asks loudly, and Loki pauses, takes a deep breath. “Because experience says I’m shit at noticing when people are mad at me; it’s best to just tell me.” He sounds remorseful, and like he’s coming up with scenarios in his head. “So, are you?”

“No,” Loki sighs out, dragging a hand down his face, “I’m not angry at you, Tony.” 

It’ll have to do, he thinks, walking out of the common areas to barricade himself in his room. 

He’s going in circles, has been going in circles for several hours now, and the prognosis is that if he doesn’t get out of his head soon, he’s going to scuff literal rings in the carpet where he’s been trying to pace his thoughts away. It’s frustrating and leaves him feeling like he could vibrate out of his skin with the tension. 

When Loki was smaller, he used to have coping mechanisms for that feeling. Granted, a sudden burst of magic expanding around him and pushing everything in its path down to the floor wasn’t exactly the healthiest way to deal with the excess energy, but at least he didn’t feel caged within himself like he does now. 

He’s helpless without his magic, and now the horse hair bracelet he’s wearing feels more like a taunt than actual, useful information, because until he recovers his power he can’t help his son. He groans out loud, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and then deciding that what he’s doing feels too much like a temper tantrum and therefore, needs to stop. One quick shower later he rejoins the Avengers. 

“He lives!” Tony exclaims dramatically when he sees him, clapping him companionably on the shoulder before turning back towards the TV. There’s an F1 race going on, and pretty much everyone is paying attention to it. When Loki takes his usual seat, Tony explains, “That blue car right there?” It zooms past the screen, hugging a curve, “That’s Stark Industries. We used to have a very decent pilot whom I pissed off into quitting two years ago,” 

“Understandable,” Loki interjects,

“-and we’ve had a couple of crap guys since then, but this new pilot shows promise.”

Bruce scoffs and Clint, who’s holding Natasha’s legs on his lap, pipes up, “There’s a betting pool. Right now we have Tony and Cap rooting for his pilot, even odds for him crashing or somehow not finishing, and everyone but Bruce betting for a flashy explosion during the race, though he only does that on principle, I know you wanna see stuff blow up, Brucie, I’m onto you.” He points at Banner with an accusatory finger and Banner grins innocently. 

“Deal me in in support of the pilot, and yes to the explosion,” Loki says curtly, a little uncertain still when dealing with Barton, though the archer seems to have mostly forgiven him for brainwashing him.

Two bowls of popcorn later, Loki loses ten dollars on the pilot, who nevertheless managed fourth place, and gets five back from Banner for a three car pileup which ends in the last one of those skidding off towards the barrier and the pilot jumping out and rolling away twenty seconds before it blows up, fire on the screen illuminating the awed faces and grimaces of everyone in their seats. 

_oOo_

It’s only after being dragged down from the common rooms and into the gym by Tony that Loki manages to feel like he doesn’t have magic crawling all over him. They’ve had another boxing session (Tony calls it boxing, though really Loki uses variations of martial arts and Tony sticks to a strong defence and a series of jabs) and Tony’s still resting down on the mat when the norse god walks over to one corner of the rung in order to get some water. Tony stretches a hand in that direction, looking longingly at his bottle, but far too lazy to get up just yet. Loki just huffs out a laugh and passes it to him. 

After a quick “Thanks,” Tony guzzles down the whole bottle in long, desperate gulps and spreads out on the mat again with a contented sigh. 

“I know you want to distract me,” Loki says after a long silence, refusing to look at Tony, “thank you.”

“No big, Reindeer Games,” he replies while sitting up and running a hand through his sweaty hair, “I recognise avoidance when I see it; I’ve done enough of it myself, though usually it ends up in the bottom of a bottle, in my case.” 

Loki doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that information, so he says nothing and runs a thumb over a raised “S” on the index finger of his other hand. As is becoming the norm, it’s Tony again who drags him out of his thoughts. 

“It might be better,” he begins hesitantly, “if I actually knew what you were avoiding, though God knows I of all people would understand if you would rather keep it to yourself.”

“I would,” is Loki’s cutting reply. 

Tony’s ability to shrug everything off surprises Loki once again when the man only says, “No problem, dude,” and gets up, grinning down at the sorcerer. “Come on, I need to shower again. And possibly a chiropractor,” he adds with a groan.

“Turn around, you big child,” Loki rolls his eyes and starts poking at Tony’s upper back when he complies. Once he finds a knot of tension among the muscle, he pushes down with a thumb into Tony’s back. There’s a small pop, a grunt from Tony, and then a relieved sigh. He repeats this process two more times, the last bringing forth the loudest pop and a loud groan, and Tony’s knees actually buckle from the release of tension. When he rights himself back up, there’s a small “Huh,” and then he stretches and sighs. 

“Man, that feels better. What did you do?” He asks Loki, turning to face him. “I feel at least an inch taller.”

“You slouch when you’re tense,” Loki offers smugly, leading the way into the elevator.

“You really have to explain the limitations of those runes better, Hocus Pocus, because I was sure you couldn’t do your mumbo jumbo and then you went and realigned my chakras or some shit.” Tony’s still stretching every which way with a small smile on his face.

“That doesn’t require much energy from me. Some kinds of magic have always been easier for me to perform,” Loki explains, “like healing and illusions. Elemental magic, too, although nothing quite like Thor and his hammer.” There’s an undertone of bitterness there, and apparently Tony notices, since he turns to look at Loki, but he remains quiet. “Most people are much better versed in spells; it’s why my mother is…” He grimaces, “was quite the celebrity in Asgard. Healers do not abound.”

“Why do you do that?” Tony interrupts, stops him from heading off into his room with a hand on his arm, “Why is it always Odin the Allfather and you deny every family tie to him but you call Frigga your mother without a second thought?”

Loki gapes for a second before starting on a trademark glare because how dare this little mortal ask those questions?

“Never mind!” Tony’s hands are up in a submissive gesture, “Just… forget I asked, okay? Thanks again,” he finishes and heads to his room.

“Frigga taught me how to use my magic,” Loki offers to his retreating back. “She never judged me for my affinity for deceptive spells and called it a gift instead.” Loki continues, eyes downcast, “As much as she could, she acted like a mother to me.”

It still hurts to talk about her in the past tense. It’s like there’s a hook lodged behind his ribcage. He doesn’t expect to be enveloped in a hug, but that’s clearly what this is. Tony holds onto him for a few long seconds and whispers, “I’m sorry for your loss, Loki.” 

Loki deems this sincere enough and hugs him back.

Later, when he’s reading in his room, he will stop and wonder why contact with Tony isn’t all that uncommon anymore, and when, exactly, this stopped bothering him. Because it’s true that the easy friendship they’re growing towards is something that even Loki can recognise is good for him. For both of them. 

_oOo_

Loki’s hiding in his room. He’s not proud of the fact, but this is still not enough to overcome his need to escape from Thor. The relationship between them has, in the year that Loki’s been acting as a consultant and extended Avenger, improved greatly, but Loki still remembers the last time he’d talked to Thor and he’s sure his adoptive brother will have several questions regarding his storming off after being given a seemingly innocuous woven bracelet. And Loki’s still not certain what he wants to do in regards to that, so Thor remains best avoided. 

The alarm, thankfully a steady beep instead of a shrill, panic-inducing noise, distracts him and drives him to his feet and down into the common floors quickly.  
The Avengers are already gathered there, their gear in different states of readiness. 

“Magneto,” the Widow explains to Banner, who’s the last one to arrive through the elevator. 

“Where are Xavier and his kids?” Tony asks the room at large while his armour assembles itself around him, its pieces flying about directed by Jarvis. 

“Held up inside the mansion, somebody set a fire and they have to get everybody out first,” replies Hawkeye.

“What can I do?” Asks Loki, tightening the straps of Thor’s armour at his shoulders where the thunderer can’t easily reach them. 

“You have no magic, Loki,” says Banner, fussing with Hawkeye’s arrowheads and handing him a different kind to take, “and there’s no room on the street for the Hulk, so we’ll have to sit this one out.” He nods to Hawkeye and says, “Ready. Be safe, guys.”

The team heads out and Loki sees red. 

“I have my knives,” he bites out, “I’m not useless without magic.”

“Knives would get you killed against Magneto, everything with metal will be a disadvantage, you’re better off on medical duty,” Bruce explains quickly. 

“And will Tony and Thor be alright, then? Mjölnir is nothing but metal, as are the MK suits,” Loki replies, still cross.

“Mjölnir only responds to Thor, and Tony’s suit is not really magnetic. It’s made out of an alloy with no magnetic pull.” Bruce turns on the news, a holographic screen appearing in front of the couch and showing, on one half, the coverage of the battle and on the other, the Avengers’ comms. 

The battle unfolds quickly in front of both their eyes, Bruce at one point leaving the couch to gather the med-kit from the kitchen. Even if the team took no metal into the fight, there’s plenty on the streets to be used against them. Captain America and the Widow are avoiding a lamppost that swings at them every few seconds, Hawkeye is trying to hit Magneto with arrows and failing since every once in a while, a car levitates and covers the villain, and Tony’s flying away from a series of live power cables which try to coil themselves around him. Magneto levitates in the centre of this three-front attack and basically flings his power at anything that moves. 

“What is Magneto doing here at all?” Loki asks suddenly, when help for the Avengers is still nowhere in sight and the villain appears to be working alone, “He’s evidently a diversion, but from what?”

Bruce shakes his head, “I thought as much, but I don’t know. Probably whatever is happening at the mansion is the main objective.”

“They need help,” Loki mutters, eyes fixed on the screen where Black Widow has a clearly broken arm from the lamppost she failed to avoid. An arrow ricochets off Magneto’s helmet and he turns around to compensate for Hawkeye’s change in building, lifting his car-shield to block other attacks. Iron Man has been getting progressively closer and manages to shoot a single bolt before being mummified in the power cables. Magneto turns towards his captured Avenger and grins with an almost sadistic undertone. He starts clenching his hand and the cables constrict. 

Captain America manages to get Magneto’s attention with a quick throw of his shield, however, Iron Man’s suit is sparking in places, the metal bent out of shape. 

“Shit,” hisses Bruce, eyes on Tony’s vitals from his transmitter. “The suit’s too tight, he’s not breathing right and the pressure around the reactor is building.”

“Widow has to stop using that arm or she’ll cause irreparable damage,” replies Loki. “They won’t last much longer out there. Jarvis? Give us an estimate for the X-Men.”

“Blackbird en route, Master Loki. Estimated time to arrival clocks at two minutes,” the AI replies smoothly.

“Thank you. Watch for further damage to Iron Man.”

“Cap!” Calls Bruce, opening up the comm, “the X-Men are on their way, but you have to send Iron Man and Black Widow back ASAP.”

“Copy that,” replies Captain America. 

Thor flies into the fray, Mjölnir clutched tightly in his hand, and aims towards Magneto. The hammer should have hit its mark full-on, but instead it slows down before collision, stopping several feet off the mark. Magneto has a face of total concentration, using most of his power on stopping the force behind it. 

Thor is frowning and working up a sweat, pushing Mjölnir forward with sheer brute strength and willpower, but he doesn’t manage to get much closer. 

Bruce and Loki sigh in relief when they see Black Widow sprinting towards Cap, whose shield she then uses to propel herself high into the air. Widow clamps onto Magneto’s back, struggling to take off his helmet just as the Blackbird, with charred wings and flaking paint, hovers above them. 

The Black Widow’s still clinging to Magneto, managing to land several punches and kicks on the villain before he flings her off at last. She falls several feet and lands smoothly on the street below, clutching her broken arm to her chest. 

The Avengers all seem to sag in relief as the skies darken and Storm appears, white eyes and outstretched arms. Thunder rumbles and she says, “We can handle him from here, thank you Avengers.” 

Cap turns towards his team. 

“Iron Man, can you fly?” he asks Tony. The man has been leaning against an upturned car, chest heaving, but he runs a quick system check and nods. 

“Thor, take Tony and Nat back to the tower. Hawkeye, remain in position, we’ll stay and help,” orders Captain America, and he runs off to coordinate with the X-Men.

“Roger,” says the Hawk. Thor holds out an arm for Natasha, who holds on to him with her good hand and they take off, Tony’s suit trailing behind them.

_oOo_

The trio makes it to the landing deck quickly, Natasha and Thor heading inside towards where Bruce is already getting out the antiseptic wipes. Loki hurries outside to meet Tony. 

“Jarvis, get me out of here!” he’s calling a bit breathlessly. The mechanical arms are working as quickly as they can, but the crunched plates in the armour won’t release. 

Loki steps up and pulls Tony’s arm around his shoulders. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, and leans Tony’s torso back as much as the suit pieces allow.

“Fuck, that hurts!” yells Tony, but he stays still while the arms work. Loki reaches for the loosened parts and finishes tugging them free, starting with the ones around Tony’s ribs and lower back and ending with the chest piece. He winces in sympathy when he sees that the jagged edges have cut through Tony’s jumpsuit. 

Tony takes a step forward and then stumbles, groaning in pain and clutching at his left side. He pales suddenly, his breath wheezing. 

“Damn,” Loki mutters, helping Tony inside and sitting him down on the couch as gently as he can. Tony’s breathing more shallowly, and when he tries to open his jumpsuit and bare his chest he lets out a wet gurgle. 

Loki reaches for him. “Let me, I think you broke some ribs. Jarvis, scans,” he requests while slowly exposing Tony’s chest. There’s a couple of gashes, though what’s most alarming is the bruising on the mortal’s side, purpling already. Loki reaches into the kit for the largest needle they own and removes the embolus. Tony wheezes wetly, coughs. “Calm down, it’s alright,” the sorcerer soothes while counting Tony’s ribs. He quickly jams the needle between two of them, listening for the tiny hiss that signals Tony’s lung inflating again. With a sigh of relief, he rests a hand on Tony’s heaving chest until the man is breathing normally again. 

“Do you feel better?” Tony nods in reply, looking quite frightened with a needle still sticking out of his side. Loki holds out a hand for something to clean Tony’s wounds with and Thor passes him the antiseptic wipes and bandages. 

“You broke two ribs and punctured your lung,” Loki explains while placing the last of the tape over the gashes on Tony’s stomach and lower ribs. “Normally, I’d bind your chest but I want to see if I can fix your lung first.” He looks down at the lines of runes on his arms and hands, thinking quickly, then smirks down at Tony. “Don’t move, now.”

Tony just glares pointedly at the large needle and quirks an eyebrow at Loki, the corner of his lips turning upward. The fact that Tony manages to find humour in almost everything astonishes and reassures Loki, so he finishes rolling up his sleeves and lays a hand over Tony’s ribcage under his chest and the other on the side of his torso, cradling the break and puncture between his hands. 

The sorcerer takes a deep breath and reaches for his magic in a practiced move. He knows he has few seconds until the wards carved onto his hands react against him, so he concentrates on trickling healing energy into Tony with precision. With one hand, he pulls out the needle and tosses it aside. He has to grimace then, since his hands start to heat up quickly, but he keeps them in place until, with a soft popping sound, Tony’s ribs realign and fit together again. It’s all he can manage before his eyes close and he falls to his knees. 

“Loke?” Tony asks, breathing heavily, the first words he’s said in quite a while. “You okay there, Hocus Pocus?” The voice is suddenly too cautious and worried. 

Loki opens his eyes. 

And panics. 

He’s blue. He can see the puff of condensation from his own rapid breaths and he’s blue. His hands have started bleeding from the raised markings, red bubbling slowly and sluggishly from the reopened wounds. The blue is not receding. 

Tony reaches out a hand to steady him and Loki flinches back. 

“Don’t touch me!” he snaps, coming back to his senses. “You’ll get frostbite.” 

Tony pulls his hand back. He seems concerned and Loki turns back to stare at him earnestly. 

“You just watched me change into a monster,” he says, wringing his hands as if that will rub away the colour like paint, “and I can’t turn back. No, I don’t suppose I’m ‘okay’.” He blinks, sighs, and gets back on his feet shakily. “I have to go.” 

Loki rushes to his room, ignoring the calls of his name coming from behind him and locking the door quickly. He crawls into the covers on the bed with a dry throat in an effort to get his body warm enough to bring back pink skin, even though he knows the unlikely use of it to begin with. The sheet is quickly wrapped around his lightly bleeding hands and with a quiet command, he silences Jarvis, turning deaf ears on the world around him. He's blue. He's Jötunn blue. He's monster-under-the-bed blue, and not turning back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is probably the fastest I’ve ever updated anything in my life. I don’t promise I’ll keep this rhythm up, but since writing more was one of my new years’ resolutions, hopefully you’ll hear from me more often. As always, thank you to everyone who’s left kudos and comments, you guys make my day and I try to reply to every comment :) And a quick question: I’ve noticed that since I write with my word processing program set to British English, some words keep their Us where the American don’t have them. I don’t “Americanpick”, if that’s even a word. Does this bother anyone?

“Loki!” Comes the banging from outside his door, “Dude, come on, it’s been three days. You have to leave the room sometime!”

Loki burrows deeper into his sheets and says nothing.

“Loke!” Tony’s becoming much more insistent since Loki has refused to reply to anything for the last few days. “Look, I know you’re alive in there, so I would really appreciate it if you stopped ignoring me.”

Ah, yes. Jarvis must be able to tell he’s awake and listening.

The banging starts again. “Okay, that’s it! You have until noon to leave that room or I’ll force the door open. You hear me? I don’t like taking your privacy from you but nobody’s seen you in a while and we’re worried. So there. Ultimatum. Last call.”

Loki sighs and turns his back to the door, lifting his bloodied and (fuck) still blue hands up to his face. What he’s doing is pitiful, he knows as much, but he still can’t gather the force of will to get himself out of bed and face… well, anyone. How is he meant to go to Asgard, stand up to his adoptive father, and demand fair treatment of his son in this hideous cerulean skin? How is he to stand before his adoptive brother and the people he’s taken to calling friends and help them when he’s looking like the villain all over again? How does he expect to release Sleipnir from his asgardian clutches, recover his magic and make his life on Midgard like he’d hoped to do, while looking so perfectly alien? He feels weak, in mind and in body, and helpless in a way he hasn’t felt since he discovered he had magic.

“Master Loki,” calls Jarvis into the room a long while later, “Sir has asked me to inform you that he’s overriding the lock on your door as we speak and that, in his words, ‘you better not be buck naked or dead or anything when I get in there’.”

It’s mere seconds later that Tony’s walking into the room, dressed in his usual garb of a band t-shirt and jeans. “So me and Thunderbolt had a chat and then me and the internet had a research marathon and now I’m sort of knowledgeable on Frost Giants. Care to tell me what brought on this monumental sulk you got going on?”

Loki hasn’t even acknowledged he’s in the room and just clutches his blankets tighter around himself. 

“Still gonna ignore me?” Tony asks with a sigh. “It’s not like you to be so self-deprecating, what with the flashy armour and the ego complex.” 

Tony approaches the bed and finally takes in the state of the lump beneath the covers. “I hate to be the grownup here, Loki, but at the very least,” he says reproachfully, “you’re getting up to clean that mess off your arms.” He tugs Loki into a sitting position and the sorcerer surprisingly complies. “Come on.” He turns a small smile on Loki while they walk towards the bathroom. 

Tony makes quick work of filling the sink with water and then cleaning dried blood off Loki’s hands and forearms with a washcloth. When he decides the scabbed over wounds don’t need bandages, he puts everything away again and asks Loki, “Have you eaten like, at all while you’ve been locked up in here?” 

Loki shakes his head and Tony grabs his elbow and begins dragging him out of the room, muttering something that sounds like “Hate to be the grownup,” again. He releases Loki and the man follows docilely. 

“Wait,” he says inside the elevator and points at Loki, “Frost giant, right?” Loki sighs and nods, sagging. “You said I’d get frostbite if I touched you before.” Loki nods again, confused. Tony reaches over and pushes the button for the 30th floor quickly. “Jarv?” he calls almost frantically now, “get us to the pool and lower the temperature of the water as much as you can. Frosty here has a fever.”

“Yes, sir,” the AI replies. 

“This is the last time,” he starts exasperatedly, turning to Loki with a stern face as the elevator slows to a stop, “that you let something like this happen, man.” 

“And why?” Loki sulks. He can see Natasha still doing laps in the water with her distinctive black bathing suit with the red hourglass shape in the front, her rigorous training regime having been reduced to swimming because of the damage to her wrist.

“Because,” Tony starts, shoving the taller man roughly, “otherwise you’re just letting things happen to you and not doing anything good for yourself. Or whoever ’S’ is, don’t think I forgot about that little secret you’re keeping.”

“What right do you have, mortal, to try to interfere in the life of Gods?” Loki spits angrily, turning to face the engineer and looming threateningly over him, his back to the edge of the pool. 

“If the gods in question are being so gigantically pigheaded, I’d say I can take some liberties.” Tony replies without missing a beat and simply shoves Loki into the pool. The Jötunn trips backwards and lands in the cold water with a loud splashing noise. Natasha swims over when she sees him fall in and looks strangely at Tony while Loki gets himself floating upright and splutters at the other man. 

“Everything all right, guys?” She asks. She’s very cautious not to make any mention about Loki’s new colouring, but watches both of them intently while kicking slowly. 

“Nat, aren’t you freezing?” Tony asks, surprised. The last he knew, the water could get pretty cold. 

“Ever heard of ice swimming?” She asks Tony with a wide smirk. Figures she and Loki would bond over frozen water of all things, for he notices Loki isn’t in the pool anymore while Tasha gazes at him funnily, and then the world shifts and he’s wading in the near-frozen water, shivering as Loki cackles madly and then slides back in with the both of them, drenched clothes and all. 

“Nice,” he mutters dryly, splashing water at Loki’s face. “Real glad to know you’re feeling better,” he huffs. 

“I am now,” Loki replies, still giggling, anger from before clearly forgotten. “You look like a wet cat.” This causes Natasha to smile as well.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh now, Lokes.” He reaches over and shoves Loki’s head underwater before heading for the stairs to get out of the pool. He slips on the wet tile, managing to get his footing back and not falling flat on his face, but by now it’s too late and there’s a pair of masochistic idiots (seriously, who likes water that cold?) outright laughing behind him. 

Loki winds up staying with Natasha for a while. The Widow is still as perceptive as she was in the Helicarrier that first time they met, and chooses to fill the ensuing silence herself. She tells Loki stories of her childhood in Russia, stemming from the ice swimming comment, and, in a show of trust Loki’s not sure he deserves, she winds up retelling the story of how she met Clint. 

“For a while there,” she says then, eyes downcast, “after I realised I didn’t have to keep doing what I’d been doing just to stay alive, I kind of hated myself.”

Loki wishes he wasn’t frozen by that declaration, because he doesn’t need her pity, but then he thinks about leaving right then and he can’t. Aside from the fact that it would be incredibly rude and that he doesn’t want to get in the woman’s bad side again, he finds he wants to listen to her story. At least a bit. He’s wrapped up in his own guilt over past wrongs, and succumbing to his own hatred of what he is, and in some part of his brain, he knows that staying to listen can only help.

“I was so wrapped up in that… loathing,” Natasha continues, “that I couldn’t even see the good I was doing elsewhere. My first missions for S.H.I.E.L.D I completed almost on autopilot, obeying orders just like I had done before. And then Clint suggested that I just… stop. As simple as that. Stop the hatred, the guilt. He told me about his time in the circus,” Loki nods at that, having seen parts of it in Barton’s memories when the man was possessed by his sceptre. 

“He said,” she resumes, “that that I shouldn’t fixate on things I have no power to fix. That I should try to do good and redeem myself not for a position in any organisation, or even to be accepted into any country and have a nationality again, but for my own peace of mind. Hating yourself for who you are and what you’ve done, will not make you a better person. It will not undo what’s done. And it will hold you back,” she finishes. 

“Thank you,” is the only thing Loki can think to say. He doesn’t specify whether he’s thanking her for the advice, for the trust, the company, or even for the help in tossing Tony into the pool, but he feels more grateful and more at peace than he’s been in a while. 

“Don’t mention it,” she counters simply, “Clint is the one who should take the credit for it, to be honest.”

“Then he, and you, are very wise, lady Natasha,” Loki says in parting, before climbing out of the water and heading for his room again.

_oOo_

“My apologies for the mess, Jarvis,” he says, towelling his hair dry in the bathroom of his floor.

“It’s quite all right, Master Loki,” the AI replies amicably. “Sir is always looking for simple tasks for Dummy to perform.” 

“I’ll never understand why he fixed the creature but managed to leave him just as ungraceful,” Loki huffs.

“It is my belief that if he hadn’t done so, Sir would easily get bored without his helpers. He seems to have become attached to them.”

“That he does,” is Loki’s response. He sighs, looks down at his unfortunately blue hands and braces himself. “Where is Thor at the moment? Is he still in the tower?”

“Yes, he’s in his chambers watching television. Adventure Time seems to amuse him to no end.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” he says and sets out for the elevator. He needs to have a chat with his brother dear that’s long overdue. 

Loki’s palms are sweating by the time he knocks on Thor’s door. He’s unsure of the welcome he’ll receive, what with his Frost Giant appearance, but apparently he shouldn’t have worried, for he’s soon engulfed in a tight and, frankly, uncomfortable hug preceded by a cry of “Brother!”, though he notices the blonde is taking care not to touch his skin, weary of frostbite.

Loki, who normally would have protested at the title, chooses to let it slide. As much as it bothers him, if Frigga was his mother, Thor, with their friendly competition and the impulse to take care of each other, is his brother as well. Besides, he could use and ally within Asgard soon. 

Thor, when he finally releases the sorcerer, beckons him inside in a friendly manner and asks, “How can I help you, Loki?” 

It’s strange that he makes no mention of Loki’s blue complexion, but Loki supposes it’s because he, more than the others, has had time to adjust to the idea. 

“I’ve come to ask for a favour,” Loki says plainly.

“Name it, brother,” Thor booms happily, “and if I can help you, I shall.”

“Ah. See, Thor, I don’t mean to be rude,” He continues, showing more confidence than he really feels, “since you did save me from a very unfortunate mishap with the Dwarves, but you owe me.”

Thor is silent for a moment before saying, “I did the only thing I could think of, and while I deeply regret the damage I had to do unto you, I won’t apologise for saving your life.” 

“Nor do I require an apology,” Loki waves the comment away. “I do, however, need you to do as I ask. It’s important to me. And I also need you not to inquire behind my motives.” He’s very close to wringing his hands nervously. 

Thor sighs and puts a hand on his clothed shoulder carefully. “Ever since we were but children I’ve trusted you with my life. There have been some moments in the last years where I’ve questioned that trust, but for the last few months you have done nothing to earn my doubts, while I have done much to the contrary.” Thor smiles shyly down at Loki then, “If I can repair your trust in me through this, Loki, believe that you have my full support.”

Loki takes a deep breath, then nods at his adoptive brother. “I’ve come to ask you not to use the Bifrost for the foreseeable future. Please,” his voice starts to break and he has to take another deep breath, “I beg of you, barring life-threatening emergencies, that you remain here.”

“That is a very strange request, Loki,” Thor says, and Loki waits with bated breath as Thor considers it and finally nods. “I’ll use the opportunity to visit the lady Jane more often,” he states with a smile.

“Thank you,” Loki breathes out, and reaches for Thor’s vambrace to shake. Thor’s hand closes around his forearm as well, smile still firmly on his face. 

“You’re welcome, brother.” 

Loki still can’t bring himself to reply in kind, though with Thor’s help in this he feels a weight lift from his shoulders. Thor’s been forgiven for the thread in his mouth those months ago (once Loki’d understood that it was necessary), but he’s still reluctant to trust him fully because of his allegiance to Odin. Should he react this well to the news that he has a nephew, when the time comes to tell him, he’ll earn the monicker back. 

For the first time in several weeks, and though still blue, Loki feels hopeful.

_oOo_

The next morning, Loki makes it down for Breakfast of his own volition, showered and dressed in black and grey clothing. The green he favours clashes terribly with his complexion, now. He sips his tea in silence as the familiar sights and sounds of the Tower coming to life settle around him. This time, Steve puts much more food on the table, accounting for Thor and his appetite. Tony is the last one to arrive, apparently coming from his workshop if his greasy t-shirt and blackened hands are any indication. 

“Hey Loke, good to see ya,” he calls happily after he’s grabbed a much needed mug of coffee. When he reaches for the food, though, he gets a slap on the back of the hand from Bruce, who wields a wooden spoon threateningly at the engineer. 

“Go,” he says, “Wash, and then you can come get your food.”

“But Moooooom!” Tony whines in good nature, but still goes to clean himself up a little. 

They eat quickly, and then Natasha grabs Barton by the collar of his shirt and starts to drag him out from his animated conversation with Thor. The spies are both dressed in full gear. 

“You’re going on missions with that?” Bruce asks, pointing at the woman’s splinted wrist. The break had warranted a cast, Loki knows, but she was adamant that it would only slow her down.

“’S jus’ recon,” Clint confirms, chugging down what’s left of his cereal. 

“Just…” Starts Banner again.

“I know,” she rolls her eyes jokingly, “I’m not 100% on my game, mind the wrist, and if I make it worse you’re forcing the cast on me and making it pink.” She grins as the pair make their way out.

“Hey, Hocus Pocus,” Tony says when they’re done with their food and Steve has taken dish duty, “Come with me, I need your input on something.”

The smile on Tony’s face is pure mischief to Loki, and he knows that whatever it is, Tony’s been working on it for hours. He seems ridiculously proud, too. Loki’s only rarely been to the workshop, and mostly it’s been in order to call Tony back to the surface world when necessary, but he knows this is where Tony… tinkers, for lack of a better word. He used to do much the same with magic back in Asgard years ago.

“Okay, so, ever since…” Tony pauses, Loki only one step behind him as they make their way through several empty display cases and busy bots, “Well, ever since Thor fell down from the sky, really, but mostly since Pepper and all… that,” he points at the displays Loki knows used to hold several of the wormhole-panic-induced MKs 8 through 42, “I’ve been wondering about magic.”

“Yes,” Loki replies wryly, “and pestering me about it at your convenience.”

“Not the point-“

“In fact, you’re about to do it just now,” Loki interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug smirk.

“Okay, yes, that is the point,” concedes Tony. 

Loki huffs out a laugh and prompts, “Go on…"

“Well, do you remember anything about Extremis several months ago?” he asks, a transparent display appearing in front of him.

“I watched the news on it, and I do remember you cured miss Pepper of it.”

“Well, that’s the thing, I don’t think I did.” He shakes his head. “Well, I mean, I did, but apparently I reversed it, too. Pep can’t heal like she could anymore. She’s not gonna go boom, either, which is good, I guess, but then I started thinking.”

“Dangerous, that,” Loki quips.

“Oh, shut up,” Tony chuckles. “Anyway, the reason all those people were blowing up spontaneously was just an energy imbalance, right? Their bodies not able to process the heat that was coming from them healing themselves. And that was a lot of leftover energy,” he shows Loki a map on the screen, “each of these spikes is over 3000 degrees.”

“And magic would control that, yes?” 

Tony nods. “It did already, I mean you don’t go firecracker whenever you heal someone, right?”

“Not normally, no,” replies Loki bitterly, looking down at his hands and the dreaded runes.

“But there’s the thing. You said that healing is something that comes easily to you. How long do the healers in Asgard have to train to be able to do what you did with me the other day?”

“At least a decade,” Loki replies suspiciously. He thinks he understands what Tony’s getting at, and he’s not sure he likes it. “Get to the point, Tony.”

“You have to use your magic to trigger the healing process, right?” 

Loki nods.

“And then this starts an exothermic reaction, a big one, in the body. Then what follows is that when you don’t control it, you end up like a strip of crispy bacon. But you can control it through magic. Which must somehow be an endothermic reaction.”

“The point, Tony.” Loki rolls his eyes impatiently. 

“Summarized? Endothermic reaction equals healing, healing magic equals frosty magic, frosty equals you, and basically Jotun, or however you pronounce it, make good healers because they’re cold and you’ve been performing Frost Giant magic all your life,” Tony finishes quietly, almost reverently, and with a healthy fear of Loki’s reaction.

“Excuse me, what?!” Loki gapes. 

“Look,” Tony makes a slicing gesture with his hands, “forget about Extremis and explosions and reactions. The only magic you’ve been able to do since you got here has been of the healing variety, and even if you call it parlour tricks you managed to save my life even with those rune thingies on you.”

He steps closer to a still paralyzed Loki. “I think these,” he resumes, turning Loki’s palms up to show the newest rows of scabs, “reacted to the spell that was keeping you looking Asgardian and not to your natural magic. Because that Bond villain character you call Allfather could have no way to bind it if he doesn’t know how it works.”

“I still can’t perform most of my spells or enchantments,” Loki says, shaking his head.

Tony’s face lights up with a wide grin. “I told you yesterday I got Jarvis to research the Yohtuns or whatever-“

“Jötunn,” Loki corrects dazedly.

“Yeah, that.” He rummages in a drawer on his desk and hands Loki a small cardboard box with the word ‘Bicycle’ written on it in flowy script. 

“Playing cards?” Loki frowns at him, puzzled.

“Yer not a wizard, Harry,” Tony intones to Loki’s further confusion. “Wasting my references, here,” he mutters. “Frost Giants are mages and I couldn’t get you a tarot deck or any of that other mumbo-jumbo. You get to practice with those until I finish your actual deck. Can’t have you going into battle with us with only gas station playing cards.”

Loki blinks owlishly at him and says nothing.

“Okay, you gotta give me something here,” Tony says uncertainly.

“I have magic?” Loki asks finally, opening the small box and fanning out the cards with a tentative smile.

“This whole Frosty the snowman business not sounding so bad now, huh?”

Loki flicks a five of diamonds at an empty display case behind Tony and the card cuts through the security glass easily, staying stuck halfway through. 

“Oh, it’s on!” Tony cheers and pumps a fist. 

Loki outright laughs, torn between happiness and relief and high on the buzz of power. “Next time you call me Frosty that card will be going through you,” he threatens. Tony can’t take it seriously, though, because seconds later he’s being tugged into a tight hug, complete with a friendly pat on the back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a Frostiron-heavy chapter, it's more of a Loki introspective. Now that he's down, Loki's been reaching out for companionship, and this chapter was meant to convey that, and mend some of his relationships before we can move on with the story. Of course, this means Loki has to rid himself of his internalised racism and realise that maybe being a Frost Giant is not all that bad.
> 
> This chapter is not American-picked, so I'm sorry if that annoys anyone :/ 
> 
> Also, this is the third January update! Yay me! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under latsin if you want to fangirl along with me :) Enjoy!

6  
Loki wakes up and is still quite tired. It takes a moment to remember why this is and then his face lights up with a grin and he stretches languorously in bed. The cards he spent most of yesterday and last night practicing with are somewhat dog-eared, but even with extensive use he hasn’t evoked any ill side-effects from the runes. And speaking of which…

He grabs one of the cards, a two of hearts, and places it face-down on his forearm, reaching for his magic in the process. It would seem the cards draw the energy without him having to specifically direct it, and in doing this, bypass the runes entirely. The scabs that were on his arm under the card, product of his healing of Tony a few days ago, fade painlessly into thin, light blue. Loki repeats this process, using the three and four of hearts as well, until all of his previous raised scars or still healing cuts fade into the same pale frost colour on his skin. 

Loki has found out a lot about cards and potency since he started playing around with them several hours before. It seems there is meaning to the different suits. Diamonds and spades seem most fitting to aggressive spells, while hearts and clovers work best for healing and deceptive ones. It took Loki only a couple of minutes to figure those out. However, there are deeper meanings. For example, while the diamonds, with their sharp edges, confer the cards a knife-like quality, they also mean hardness and resilience, so when Loki tried to cast an easy strength spell on the mirror of his bathroom, the results had been nearly unbreakable. He knows, he tried smashing the reflective glass in front of him by throwing almost all spade cards at it, to no avail until he tried the Joker card on a whim. The resulting explosion nearly cost him his eyebrows.

There’s even tertiary meanings to the tiny symbols. He found out that he could not lie out loud while casting a truth spell with a diamond card, but that the clover one had no effect on his silver tongue. All meanings and different potency variations, which depend on some numbers with their clear exceptions (like the seven of clovers, which is the most powerful of that suit), have been jotted down in a small notebook in Loki’s elegant and crisp handwriting. There’s handwritten graphs of how effective and potent the cards are, which Loki measured with the help of Jarvis. These show, as expected, a steady rise as the number on the cards grows bigger. The most powerful cards are the two Jokers in the deck, but even those run out of power after a while and have to be left to restore themselves. 

Loki takes the notebook and deck of cards with him when he goes down to eat, finding Tony, Bruce, Thor, Clint and Natasha in the kitchen, the latter two apparently having returned from their mission yesterday in good health. He sits down to eat and takes dish duty afterwards, heading to the sink while everyone else heads into the living room to plaster themselves in front of the TV.

They must find nothing to settle on, so Clint says instead, “Hey, who wants to go a few rounds of Bullshit?”

“What is that, a game?” Thor asks from his chair.

“Yup, a card game,” replies Clint.

Loki turns around and says with alarm, “Don’t touch them,” speaking over Tony, who’s saying, “Yeah, but not with those, those are Loki’s.”

It’s too late. Clint withdraws his hand with a hiss, the tips of his fingers looking red and stiff, as if severely frozen. 

“Told ya,” mutters Tony.

“What the fuck?” Asks Clint, glaring at Loki. 

The mage sighs and heads to them after drying his hands in a towel. 

“Brother, what is this?” Thor questions, Natasha silently assessing Clint’s fingers. 

“I discovered a way to return Loki’s powers,” Tony tells them.

Loki nods and adds, “These cards are my only weapon as of now, so I put a protective spell on them. My apologies. I will remedy that in a moment.” He shuffles the cards and holds out the four and five of hearts. He looks at Natasha and tells her, “You as well, take off the splint,” and sets out the five of diamonds.

“Dude!” Clint complains when Loki tugs his hand. Loki just rolls his eyes.

“We tried to warn you,” Tony reminds him, and Clint settles with a huff.

Loki casts a simple healing spell for his fingers with the five of hearts, then uses the four of hearts differently, directing his magic deeper into it until the card starts to warm up. “Hold this,” he hands Clint the warm piece of cardboard, “it will unfreeze your fingers.” 

Natasha holds out her arm when Loki prompts her, and he lays the five of hearts face down over where he remembers the break in her arm was from Jarvis’ scans. Over it, he places the five of diamonds, since so far his research has shown that the same numbers work best together. He casts a healing spell, directing it through the five of diamonds afterwards so the bone knits itself together to be more resistant.

Once he’s done with this, and Clint has returned his other card and thanked him, Natasha shooting him a small smile as she bends and twists her wrist, he notices Thor and Bruce are paying attention to Tony, who’s explaining his discovery. 

“…then I was thinking about using magic to integrate the Extremis modifications into a suit and it just hit me, so I got Loki and gave him the cards.” 

“So you did, and I thank you again,” says Loki.

“It’s good to see you so like yourself again, brother,” remarks Thor. “Now, if you could take mercy on us before you start tricking us at every turn I would be grateful.”

“I can’t promise that,” smirks Loki. Tony barks out a laugh and Bruce changes the subject. 

“So, Bullshit?”

“Sure,” says Tony, “just let me get another deck.” 

It’s forty minutes later and Loki’s about to win the game when Tony says, “Bullshit!”

“Are you sure?” teases Loki.

“I second that,” says Natasha, “there’s only four cards of each number in a deck.”

“Have you been counting cards, Nat?” asks Bruce.

“Forget about that, Loki’s lying! There’s NO chance he has that eight.” Tony seems certain, so Loki flips the card over and sure enough, there’s an eight on top of the cards.

“Your turn to the pile, Tony!” Thor booms excitedly.

Tony crosses his arms, stares Loki dead in the eye, and says slowly, “Bullshit.”

Loki holds the gaze for about five seconds before he cracks and starts laughing manically.

“All right, I yield,” he says, and the eight in front of them transforms into a Jack.

“I fucking knew it!” Tony shouts and shoves the pile of cards at Loki, who’s still cackling, but takes the cards anyway.

“Wait, no fair!” cries Clint, “How can I count cards when he keeps transforming them and I can’t call his bluff?”

Thor chuckles and nudges Loki companionably. “Imagine our childhood,” he quips.

_oOo_

“Dr. Banner?” Loki calls somewhat shyly, “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, Loki,” replies the man and waves Loki over into the living room where he’s watching the news. Tony’s disappeared into his workshop, Steve is in the gym with Thor, happy to finally be matched in strength, and Clint and Natasha are off at SHIELD. “And I’ve told you, it’s Bruce. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you something about Tony. I don’t think the question would go down well with him.” 

“Pepper?” Banner— Bruce asks, perceptive as ever.

“Pepper.” Confirms Loki, eliciting a sigh, but after which a nod follows.

“I was wondering when you’d ask. The first couple of times you came here she and Tony were living in each other’s pockets, right?”

“Indeed,” muses Loki, “and I also remember the dark mood Tony slipped into for a while after that, and a distinct absence of Miss Potts.”

“You’re right, it wouldn’t go well asking Tony that. He took it really hard.” He sighs, as if bracing himself, and rubs his nape. “Okay. Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, but from what I gather, Pepper was just too concerned about several things. She was starting to believe that Tony was only with her because it was convenient, so she wanted some distance to figure things out.”

Loki grimaces in sympathy, prompting another nod.

“You can imagine Tony’s reaction. Keep in mind, these are two people who had been dancing around the other for nearly a decade, during which Pepper had to deal with Tony’s various flings and one-night stands.”

“And when you say ‘various’, you’re being polite,” Loki interjects with a huff.

“Exactly. So Pepper had a hard time believing she had been the one to change him, to make him settle down. And Tony did change; he’s not self-destructive anymore, he’s not paranoid, he doesn’t hide inside his suit… He’s a stable man now. Pepper helped, but she wasn’t the only reason for the change. The Avengers played an important role in it, too. SHIELD and his father, and Obadiah and Ivan Vanko.”

Loki shifts in his seat. He knows about Obadiah, got the whole story on him from Clint while controlled by the Tesseract, and the betrayals Tony’s suffered cut a little too close to home. 

“It all dissolved into a screaming match when Tony wanted to start using the reactor again. It was a big milestone for them when he decided to get the surgery to remove the shrapnel around his heart. Tony thought he was free of his past and the kidnapping and torture. Pepper thought it meant they were free of Iron Man.” Banner takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes tiredly. “While he doesn’t tinker and overdo himself on the suits anymore, at least not like he used to, Tony is Iron Man. It’s a part of him as important to his personality as being with Pepper. She understands it only up to a certain point. She doesn’t get why Tony feels like he has to go out there, fight in the suit.”

“Atonement,” Loki mutters.

“Yes. He used to be the Merchant of Death, and then he was Iron Man. The truth is, Tony doesn’t know how to be just Tony anymore. Pepper doesn’t, can’t, understand that.”

“That’s why he went to you,” the sorcerer deduces. 

“Yes,” Bruce lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “For a while there, I was stubborn about being just Bruce. Being at war with yourself, between who you think you should be and who you actually are, is torture. The thing is, there’s some things we have no control over. We can let them destroy us, or we can embrace them. Tony got his eyes opened when he was held captive in a cave. I screwed up and created the Hulk in an accident, but he is as much a part of me as Iron Man is a part of Tony.”

Loki’s eyes glaze over, and he looks over into a random spot on the wall, lost in thought. Bruce’s words are getting to him, cutting through years of self-abuse and getting to a very important, fundamental truth: Loki’s a Jötun. There’s no changing that. And if he means to get his son back, he’d best get on with the program and embrace that fact. 

“Pepper left,” Bruce continues, interrupting Loki’s train of thought, “and Tony had a bad time for a while, but he’s back on his feet. She deserves someone safe, who can give her the attention she needs and reassure her, and he deserves someone who understands why he keeps putting himself at risk.”

“Pepper is still working at Stark Industries, isn’t she?” Loki asks then, imagining how uncomfortable that must be.

“Yes,” chuckles Bruce, “but Stark Industries was always hers to begin with. Tony doesn’t care much about it other than the research and development part. He’s an engineer, not a CEO. That was always Pepper’s job, and Tony’s only too glad to let her keep it.”

“I see. Thank you, Bruce,” Loki tells him, getting up. 

“No problem. You should talk to Tony about it next time, though. I don’t think I get the full picture.”

Loki nods, turns around to leave. 

“Uh, Loki?” Bruce calls.

“Yes?”

“You are aware that part of Tony’s one night stands and flings were… male, right? Tony’s quite openly bi.”

“Yes, although I do not see how that’s relevant,” Loki evades easily, though he only thinks he succeeds because Bruce is letting him. And if he does notice that his mind has been turning to Tony more often as of late, well… One life-altering revelation is enough for one day, thank you. 

He’s aware of Bruce’s devious smirk and of the man’s eyes following him out of the room. 

_oOo_

When Loki tells this story again, he will definitely ignore certain details. He will be telling it again, he knows. He does realise how important a step this is for him. But he’s ashamed of how his breath catches, his hands shake. 

Over the last couple of days he’s gotten used to the playing cards, relying on them to make use of his magic. While he knows he only has his power back because he’s embraced a part of his heritage, he’s still reluctant to look at himself in detail. Loki won’t look in the mirror, will shower mostly with his eyes closed, and he’s only too tired of avoiding human contact and being overly aware of where he’s moving at all times to avoid unintentional frostbite. In his mind, there’s a huge difference between using his Jötun-given magic because it’s the only one he can use, out of convenience, and actually using Frost Giant magic. 

However, Bruce is right. 

Loki doesn’t have the will, the strength and soundness of mind, that being in constant clash with himself requires. There’s no Frigga to ask for advice, no mother figure to reassure him he is loved regardless of his origins and appearance. There’s no more deluding himself thinking he can live up to Odin’s expectations and gain the throne of Asgard. He can escape neither what he’s done or what’s been done to him, but through the blood flowing in his veins, through his monstrous nature, there’s a way to make things right again. 

Loki nods to himself, glances down at the deck of cards in his still very blue hands, and speaks. “Jarvis, close the entrance to the room, please.”

The door closes and latches behind him, leaving him shut inside the glass room holding the pool. It’s olympic-sized, crossing the tower almost in its entirety, and the view outside is fantastic, even if this is one of the lowest floors in the tower. Loki knows, and is reassured by the fact, that no one can see him from the outside, and so he sighs and crosses over to the other side, the mid-morning sunlight that falls among the skyscrapers hitting his back.

“Could you show me the scans from my magic going back a month ago?” He asks politely, shuffling his cards quickly until he finds the two of diamonds. A holographic screen pops up in front of him, (and really, did Tony install projectors everywhere?) showing the graphs he’d managed to compile before. 

There’s a steady yellow line at the bottom, showing the current reach of his asgardian magic. This line only goes up to a certain energy output, wavers, and then plummets down to zero again. Next up is a green line, showing medium-sized spikes, although it stays mostly constant. 

“Start scanning, please,” he tells Jarvis, “and add to the graph as you go.”

He chose to start small, already has a grasp of how the numbers for the cards work, but he’s somewhat wary of the power he’s about to unleash. He knows magic, though, knows how to find the delicate balance of control. He takes one last deep breath, then flings the card over the pool, then follows up with a surge of awareness, a suggestion of shape for the energy to take. 

There’s a loud crackling sound, almost like thunder but with more brittle edges, rumbling as it moves over the surface of the water, freezing it over. Loki turns back to the window and sees frost crawling up its surface in a pattern almost like fern leaves. 

The dark blue scrawl Jarvis adds into the graph shows a rapid growth, then a stable, straight line that shows next to no decline in potency. Does Loki still have control?

He tests it out carefully, pulling the frost back from the windows, then the floor, and finally, the clear surface of the pool. The small, soggy piece of cardboard sinks into the water. The graph to Loki’s right shows the yellow and green lines, cutting short and plummeting down, and an almost gentle slope on the blue one, which is significantly longer than the other two. Loki stares with wide eyes, drags a hand over his mouth, then starts to laugh. 

It’s surprising, unfamiliar: the sound of his gleeful snickers, the way it tugs at the corners of his eyes. It makes him dizzy. He seeks out the four of diamonds, tosses it out over the water, then thinks it into transparent icicles, growing from the slushy water. They’re completely clear and diamond-bright. With another nudge, he transforms then into buildings: the palace in Asgard, Stark tower, the pointy, elegant towers of Alfheim, and finally, an altar of columns like in Jötunheimr. There’s Idunn’s apple trees, Vanaheim’s mountains and valleys. The sight touches him deep, the knowledge that he made this happen is empowering, and he finally thinks he might have a chance of success against Odin. 

Loki lets the magic go, and the water thaws again. He’s still smiling when he asks, “Where’s Tony?”

“In his rooms, Master Loki,” Jarvis replies smoothly, vanishing the graph and opening the door so Loki can step outside. 

_oOo_

Loki steps into Tony’s floor, makes quick way into the bedroom, and lets out a quiet chuckle when he realises Tony’s in the shower. 

“Stark!” He calls out, reaching for the three of diamonds. After all, it wouldn’t do to freeze the mortal solid. 

“Dude!” yells back Tony, “I’m having me-time in here! Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“I really don’t think so,” says Loki, already sending a card under the bathroom door and forwarding a simple instruction: ‘Cold’. 

Tony screeches, his shower suddenly icy. “Okay, okay, what the fuck do you want?” He yells, voice strangled by his chattering teeth. “Just make it stop, please!”

“I only needed to tell you I’ve finally stopped fighting,” Loki says with a wide, innocent grin. Tony shoves open the door, clad in a towel around his waist and another large one he’s using as a blanket. The card is in his hand.

“Fighting what, asshole?!” He rages, “The only thing suffering here is my dick about to fall off! Can you give me back my warm water, please, before you cause me literal blue balls?!” He’s attempting a ferocious glare, but the effect is greatly diminished by his chattering teeth and the almost whine he lets out when he sticks the card to Loki’s forehead with the water from his hands.

Loki dissolves into peals of laughter again, even as he recalls the cold and Tony slams the bathroom door in his face.


	7. Chapter 7

7  
Ever since he was a child, Loki has been known for being a pain in the ass. No point sugarcoating it. His general pranking and meddling as a young boy granted him the title ‘Mischief maker’ long before Thor even had hold of Mjölnir, much less knew how to manipulate it. 

In layman’s terms, he beat Thor to his godly title. 

The more-renowned monicker of Liesmith came much later. It was only after he was let free to plot and plan his mischief that he started to involve lying into the process, and even then, it was only in aid of his childish schemes; a little lie here and he could get more of the cook’s muffins to give to Thor and his friends and be included in their games. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone noticed he was doing it. Nobody could tell whether or not he was lying, and as he grew older and more alienated, so did his lies and tales grow as well. 

It all came to a head when he got Thor to dress up as a lady. Admittedly, it got them both in serious trouble, but in the end, all his spun stories were no good in the eyes of Odin Allfather. And if the king himself wouldn’t trust him to tell the truth, then his subjects wouldn’t either. 

And so came the other names: Trickster, Liesmith, Silver-tongue, God of Lies. 

The point being, Loki knows about lies. He knows how to make you believe most anything he says, and he can spin a story with so many delicate details you have no choice but to believe him. It doesn’t mean he can detect when a lie is being told to him. He can, however, make an educated guess. 

Not that he really needs to, with the way Tony’s behaving. 

“You shouldn’t come in here today, the floor’s a mess and there’s scrap metal everywhere,” Tony tells him on Monday and even as he climbs the stairs, Loki has trouble remembering a time when the workshop was clean. To him, it’s always looked the way Tony just described it. 

“Working with radioactive uranium here, Hocus Pocus,” is the excuse on Tuesday. To his credit, he does look to be in a protective suit.  
“You know I’m not affected by radiation, Tony,” Loki deadpans.  
“Right, well, I am so I don’t need distractions. See ya later!”

Loki gets the hint and stops showing up after that. It’s not like he needs Tony’s company, he could just as easily go visit Bruce, or train with Natasha like he’s been doing for a while now (the Widow takes his blue skin as a challenge to be careful where she lands a punch), but he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed to be lied to by the Avenger he gets on with the best. 

Two days later, at dinner, he sees Tony again. The engineer comes up from his workshop with burn marks on his t-shirt and smelling of smoke. 

“Hey, Lokes,” he says, like four days isn’t the longest time they’ve spent apart in the five months Loki’s been living in the Tower. The thought does’t rankle Loki at all. “What have you been up to this week?”

“Nothing much,” answers Loki dryly. Apparently, Tony has learned to leave well enough alone, or so Loki thinks until a half hour later.

“So…” Tony says after they’ve washed their dishes, “Aren’t you gonna ask me what I was doing for so long?”

“Was I supposed to?” Loki replies drily, not amused. 

“Don’t be like that,” Tony whines, “Come on, ask.”

“If I do, will you stop being a pest?” Loki is actually approaching anger by now. He doesn’t appreciate Tony dangling his sneaking about in front of his face and eating in total silence and awkwardness reminds him too much of the last feasts and banquets he had to attend in Asgard. He does not need to be brought down this early in the day.

“Yup,” is Tony’s cheery reply.

Loki sighs, then says in a bored tone, “Fine, then. Tony, what did you do this week?”

“Come with me.” 

Loki rolls his eyes, but when he’s done Tony’s still looking at him, in equal measures hopeful and excited, and when he stretches out a hand in the direction of the stairs, Loki doesn’t resist and goes with him to the workshop. 

They have to wade through the general post-work-bender-chaos but eventually, Tony stops him in front of the desk and turns around, beginning hesitantly, “I didn’t know how to show you this, since honestly, the last person I discussed this with flipped out on me, but here goes.”

He takes a deep breath and flicks his hand out on the clear glass surface of his worktable, projecting several pages’ worth of calculations and blueprints, along with various scientific equations, all scribbled out in Tony’s messy handwriting. Loki just stares for a moment, looks around himself, and he can totally see Tony just madly taking stylus to tablet in the stream of consciousness he can see spread out before him. His eyes narrow as he tries to work out what it all means, since he’s not all that well versed in midgardian science, but once he sees the blueprints in more detail, he realises their purpose. 

He turns wide eyes on Tony, who’s leaning against the desk with his arms crossed, and asks slowly, “What is this?” if only to hear it from the engineer’s lips.

“Extremis,” Tony replies plainly, “Well, it’s based off of it, but I think I’ve made it better.”

Loki glares, “It’s also the balancing of energetic equations theorising the workings of Jötun magic. It’s extremely dangerous, not to mention reckless, to experiment with this in an enclosed space,” he hisses, gesturing around them.

“Which is why I haven’t,” Tony says smugly. “I don’t understand magic as magic,” he starts, “but I can recognise it as energetic reactions, and that’s enough for the theoretical part of it.” The mortal scratches the back of his head, strangely shy all of a sudden, “I was kinda planning to tell you anyway, once it was done, but I figured you might want to help?” His voice is hopeful, and Loki tears his gaze from those enticing brown eyes to survey the holograms around them one more time. 

“You’ll never manage this without some knowledge of magic,” he says with a blooming grin, then teases, “and I happen to be well versed in it myself.”

“So you’ll help?” 

Loki sighs. “If only to keep you from blowing the tower up around us.”

“Yeah!” Tony fist-pumps.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Loki decides. “You look like you’re lacking sleep.”

“Oh, yeah. What day is it even?” Tony asks sheepishly.

A calm voice chimes in from the ceiling, “It’s Thursday, sir. Also, it’s been 64 hours since your last full night’s sleep, so I suggest you get to work on that.”

“Don’t sass me, Jarvis,” Tony says with a smirk, “I didn’t program you to talk back.”

“Certainly not, sir. You did, however, give me an intuitive language centre.”

“I swear you get worse every day,” replies Tony, shaking his head while he ushers Loki out the door, locking it behind them. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” says Jarvis, ever-present even in the hallways.

“Yep, you would.” Tony’s grinning as he and Loki enter the elevator. “‘Night, Loke,” he says when they part ways, patting Loki on the shoulder companionably.

_oOo_

Things settle into a strange tranquility, after that. Loki spends most of the day, with the exception of a few sparring sessions and meals (he is capable of functioning like an adult, unlike some people), holed up alongside Tony, poring over blueprints and calculations, explaining magic in a way the mad scientist can incorporate into his scheming. 

He has to dig deep to do this, too, since it’s complicated to take something that has always been so instinctive, so natural to him, and reduce it into numbers and values. It’s hard work, for both sorcerer and engineer. 

When pressed for an explanation as to why he requires magic, Tony again repeats the debate about healing, gesturing wildly at Loki’s blue features as he explains how Jötuns have apparently mastered the art of healing without combusting like the victims of the unperfected Extremis. He wants to take that ability to summon new skin cells, to repair damage, and input it into “nanobots”, enabling him to conjure the Iron Man suit at will, store it within himself like Loki keeps his armour and helmet close and ready for use. At least, that’s about as far as Loki understands it. It’s not too far-fetched an idea. 

Tony finally explains he had been toying with the concept for a while, which is why he had dug out the arc reactors and started using them again, never having bothered to remove the port in his chest since the surgery to do that was far too invasive.

Loki’s mind, spinning with conversions and calculations, spells and translations, doesn’t have much time to make him worry about much else. This suits him fine, since he has established there is not much he can do for the Sleipnir situation without first regaining full use of his magic. This, he figures, is one of the benefits of working with Stark. If they can manage to crack Extremis, they will also hold the answer for Loki’s Jötun problem. 

It’s three weeks later and they’ve developed a routine. Tony, or Loki, whoever’s most exhausted, will either head to bed or kip on the cot in the corner of the lab for a few hours at a time, while the other works on their side of the problem. With Jarvis’ assistance, they’ve managed to compile all the data that they need in order to step out of the theoretical realm, and when they finally deem their research done, Tony asks, “Would it be ok if I asked Bruce for help with the nanobots?”

Loki, who has little idea of engineering, and much less about biology, just nods. 

Their designs are pretty rudimentary still, since they absolutely need some external input before going into manufacturing, but the research is solid and they both have finally come to a point where they believe it will work. It took longer than most of Tony’s projects usually do since they hit several translation roadblocks (Loki trying to explain magic in terms of energetic expenses), but they finally have a solid base to work on. And so they celebrate. 

Tony busts out one of his best bottles of Whiskey, which Loki declines in favour of a couple glasses of wine. Tony’s not as measured in his drinking as Loki, but his alcohol tolerance is much higher. They sit on the cot in the workshop, talk for hours on end, and Tony even convinces Dum-E to pour their drinks wearing a black bow-tie. The bot, in an uncharacteristic fit of coordination, manages not to drop any of the bottles he’s shuffling, though he does confuse their drinks and insists on handing Loki the scotch. Dum-E fidgets dejectedly when Loki tries to correct his mistake, and so he does end up chugging the amber liquor, so as to not make the bot sad. 

When Tony notices, he dissolves into giggles, eyes and nose scrunching together as he goes progressively pinker, trying to breathe through his laughter. Loki has a moment when he thinks Tony’s never looked as attractive as he does now, good-humoured and loose-limbed from the alcohol. 

Unfortunately, Tony’s on his ninth consecutive whiskey and things devolve from there. While Loki’s only now feeling lofty and buzzed, Tony’s body is finally processing all the ethanol he’s consumed, leaving him uncoordinated and with lower inhibitions. He insists they dance around the worktables, and Loki humours him, watching him twist and swing his hips to the sound of very loud pop music. Loki’s having fun as well, twirling and jumping, to Tony’s amusement, and forgetting, for a moment, just how many responsibilities and troubles he has weighing him down. It’s invigorating and relaxing, and he turns to thank Tony for the opportunity to let go of his worries, but he stills when he notices just how the engineer’s dancing now. 

Tony’s climbed onto a workbench when Loki wasn’t looking, and he’s swinging his body in time with the music, feet moving smoothly over the small surface. His hips are swaying effortlessly, and then he turns around and shows off an incredible view of his pert butt, bouncing to the beat. It’s at Loki’s eye level, and he can’t tear his gaze from the way Tony’s hips start swivelling and gyrating. He knows he’s stopped moving, but it’s only when he starts panting shallowly, breath coming only through his mouth, and green eyes roaming over the lithe figure in front of him that he realises he has to put a stop to it before more of his blood heads south and things take a turn into dangerous territory. He takes one last glimpse, a tendril of arousal zinging down to the base of his spine, and closes his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. 

“Tony,” he shouts over loud music, “Get down from there before you hurt yourself.”

The man appears not to hear. He speaks again, “Jarvis, would you mind?”

The music stops almost instantly, and Loki thanks the AI quietly. 

“Awwwww, Loki!” Tony whines, then slurs, “Don’ stop the party, why are you stoppin the party?” The drink he has in his hand sloshes dangerously, threatening to spill. 

“It’s bedtime, Tony,” he replies simply, taking a glance at the clock on the holographic display projecting onto the back wall of the room, “It’s three in the morning.”

“Don’ have a bedtime,” Tony replies proudly, then turns and proclaims, “Jarvis! Music!” before slipping on spilled alcohol and nearly braining himself on the stand of the soldering wand. 

Jarvis replies, “I’m afraid I agree with Master Loki, Sir. You have a blood alcohol level of 1.81 based on my calculations.”

“Party poopers,” Tony mutters from where he’s lying on the workbench, but he’s starting to curl up with his hands under his head to use as a pillow.

“Come, Tony,” Loki coaxes, “let’s get you to your room before you fall asleep somewhere you’ll regret in the morning.”

“I never regret it in the mornin’,” says Tony with a suggestive eyebrow lift, but he still rolls over the edge of the table. It’s only Loki’s reflexes, admittedly slower when drunk, that help him catch Tony before he lands face-first into he floor. 

“All right,” Loki murmurs, then swings the compact, limp body over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, heading for the elevator. Tony giggles. “Yes?” Loki prompts. 

“You’re carryin’ me to bed,” replies Tony, then giggles again, “You’re strong.”

“I’m a god,” Loki says with a sigh, “In case you’re too drunk to remember.”

Tony’s quiet as Loki sets him down and leans him against the wall of the elevator. When the door opens with a ding on Tony’s floor, Loki wraps the man’s arm around his shoulders and leads him to the bedroom, flopping him face down on the bed. He then heads to the kitchenette, pours Tony a glass of water, and then grabs two painkillers out of a bottle Jarvis points out. He has Tony take those and drink the entire glass of water, then goes to refill it and leaves it on the nightstand. 

“Hey, Lo’?” Tony asks when the sorcerer’s unlacing his shoes. Loki hums in acknowledgement. “Your eyes’re pretty.”

Loki smiles down at him, says, “Good night, Tony,” and then turns to leave. 

“Night, Lo’”, Tony says quietly behind him. When he’s almost at the door, he hears a mumble of, “Hate t’ see ya go, love t’ watch ya leave.” He freezes with a hand on the door handle, but before he can think of a reply (and really, when was the last time words left him like that?) he hears a deep snore. With a chuckle and a shake of his head, he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. 

 

_oOo_

What happens next isn’t really a surprise. 

Loki finds himself underneath a compact, warm body, and without much hesitation, slides a hand up to tangle in the short strands of his companion’s hair. There’s a pleased hum and the man leans closer until they’re sharing breath. 

“You really do have pretty eyes,” he says. Loki is, in turn, staring deep into brown orbs through the blue glow that illuminates the space between their chests. The sorcerer has the vague sensation that he should be feeling apprehensive, but he isn’t really. He knows he should be concerned, should back down and tell Tony to leave, but he doesn’t actually want to. He’s tired of fear, of depriving himself of this, and he even finds that he wants it. A lot, if the growing warmth in his belly is any indication.

The hand still clenched in short hair tilts Tony’s head back and down to mash their mouths together in a kiss that, despite its uncoordinated start, turns heated very quickly. Loki releases his tight hold on the man’s hair, one hand curving around a bicep as the kiss continues. One of his legs comes up to rest on the swell of Tony’s ass, and Tony’s fingers start roaming up and down the pale flesh of his thigh, leaving tingling trails behind. They kiss for so long, sharing light touches and moving sensuously together, that it feels as if they don’t need to break apart for air. 

When they do, Loki can already feel something blunt and wet bumping against his erection. He moves his hips, sliding their cocks together while they both pant into the space between their mouths. Tony moves to mouth at Loki’s neck, nibbling a path from collarbone to pulse point to earlobe and back, then starting it again with his tongue. Loki tilts his head to the side to allow more access, whining softly when Tony finds a good spot. Their hips still rock together, the rhythm of their movements faster now, and Loki closes his eyes and allows himself to get lost in the sensations, feeling safe in his lover’s embrace. 

When he finally takes stock of himself again, there’s a pleasant buzz at the base of his spine, and there is dampness between his legs. His body feels loose, his limbs soft as he remains cuddled to Tony’s chest. They kiss once more, then separate to look at each other. Tony’s hair is spiked with sweat and he’s breathing fast, but the grin he aims at Loki is blinding. He lets his eyes roam the handsome features for a moment longer, then turns around in the circle of Tony’s arms. 

“Ready?” Tony whispers into his ear with a fond voice. 

Loki hums in agreement and turns his head back for a kiss as the head of Tony’s cock slides into him. There’s a tiny frown on Loki’s face, because there’s a nagging feeling that he should be pulling away, but he feels so safe and protected that he doesn’t actually want to follow the instinct. 

Tony seems to know this, though, because he goes slowly, murmuring endearments in Loki’s ear until he’s all the way inside, and keeps still until Loki relaxes into his embrace again. When he starts moving, he thrusts deep and slow, each shove glancing leisurely over Loki’s prostate and making the sorcerer whine quietly. Through the haze of pleasure he registers one of his hands is clenching the corner of the pillow, the other reaching back to rest on Tony’s lower back, pulling the man closer as his back arches, pushing his hips against the thrusts and letting the cock in him slide deeper. 

Tony changes his movements then, still driving his hips as slowly and deeply as before, but now he stills after each shove inwards and he grinds his hips in a tiny circle against Loki. 

The sharp spike of pleasure melts its way down his spine, forcing a gasp out of Loki. He shoves backwards with more force, pulls Tony to him with a grip that’s bound to leave red lines on his skin, and pants out, “ _Haah!_ Tony, I’m… _Nnn!…_ I’m not going to last…” 

Tony, encouraged, quickens his pace, still thrusting precisely where Loki needs it, panting against Loki’s ear in between soft bites. 

Loki whines, pleasure starting to unravel, and suddenly he’s rutting against the edge of his bed, clenching the sheets in both hands in his dark room, and muffling a shout into the pillow as he comes in his pyjama pants. His face feels sweaty, the sheets stick to his skin, and he tries to roll off the wet patch, succeeding only in tangling his feet in the sheets and taking a tumble off the edge of the bed. 

He lies there, on the carpet beside his very much empty bed in his dark room, feeling the remains of his orgasm start to cool uncomfortably on his thigh and sticking the fabric of his pants to his leg. All this after having the hottest wet dream of his life in which the only person on Midgard he would call his friend all but fucks him from behind in the most vulnerable position imaginable. Loki feels confused, almost like he’s been betrayed by both his body and his subconscious, and yet he feels sated and secure in a way he hasn’t felt in over five years. Which is also confusing and, if he’s going to be honest with himself, very, very frightening.

What. Even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter brings about the long-awaited sex in the story, as an apology for the time that it took me to write and upload this. So, sorry? Accept the smut as an apology? :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and, if you can, give constructive criticism (especially on the porny bits; it's the first time I write it and I could use some feedback)


	8. Chapter 8

8  
After “the dream”, Loki can’t go to sleep again. He gets up with a resigned sigh, angry all of a sudden. He’s unsure whether this anger is at Tony, at his situation, or at himself, but he feels angry. Also, slightly hungover. 

After a quick shower that serves to clear his head if only a little, he decides the room feels too stuffy to remain there. He gets dressed in comfortable clothes and makes his way out. He doesn’t want to socialise, much less see Tony right now, so he heads to the balcony garden. The shape of the tower allows for there to be a landing pad for Thor or Tony’s suits, and a garden on the other side. It’s mostly for show since, to Loki’s knowledge, nobody uses it but Banner. 

When he gets there, though, he has to be grateful for the Doctor’s absence. He has to do some introspecting and this is best done alone, especially now that he feels he would be annoyed by the other’s presence. 

He pulls a mat out of the supplies rack by the entrance and sits cross-legged near the edge of the balcony, admiring the view of the slowly approaching sunrise. He lets his mind drift, trying to grasp at some things he knows need to be thought over. First of all, he thinks of Tony. He’s not deluded, he knows he’s attracted to the mortal, but he hasn’t let himself believe he can do anything about it. Up until last night, he thought the attraction was completely onesided. 

Now, though, he lets himself wonder. What if the small smiles, the occasional touches, mean something? He can recall Natasha looking at him weirdly that day by the pool, and he remembers Bruce’s inquisitive looks and the words “quite openly bi.”

When he bothers to think about it, he hasn’t seen Tony spar with any other Avenger, preferring to work out alone. And the only person allowed in the lab besides Pepper is Bruce because, as Tony says, they’re science bros. To be allowed quite openly into the man’s space, to be encouraged to be there, makes Loki feel like smiling for some reason. 

Then, there’s the dream. Loki’s worried about that one, quite frankly. On the one hand, it was amazing to be able to fantasise about sex again. He hasn’t had that happen since he was far younger and, since Sleipnir, his sex drive has been near nonexistent. He’s glad, then, that he can still have those thoughts. However… The thought of sex now still makes uncertainty and fear twist his stomach into knots. In his dream it was particularly unsettling, what with the vulnerability and compliance, and the thought that he subconsciously wants all that sits ill with Loki now that he’s awake. He feels exhausted from hiding and would finally like to go back to normal, as much as he was normal before he had a child, but at the same time feels apprehensive of what will happen. 

There’s nothing for it, really, except seeing if he can work out the confidence to let go with a partner again. They would have to know, though, and it’s this part that still terrifies Loki. The last person to find out wasn’t exactly accepting and, should it happen again that they’re… That Tony is… The risk is still too great, but is Loki willing to take it? 

The clang of the elevator distracts him, and he turns away from the New York skyline, lit by the rising sun, to face the Black Widow herself, in her training gear. 

“Good morning,” she says pleasantly, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Good morning,” he replies in kind and explains, “I had some thinking to do and this seemed like an appropriate place to be alone.”

She stops in her search for a mat and says uncertainly, “I could leave…”

“No, no, it’s alright,” interrupts Loki, gesturing to the floor, “sit, please.”

She does as requested, legs stretched out in front of her, and they fall quiet for long minutes, gazing out into the horizon. Avengers Tower is only a little higher that most skyscrapers in Downtown NY, but since they’re a little ways away from the center of the city, they get a nice view. 

Natasha breaks the silence first, “I’ve always found this to be a nice place to clear my head. I tried meditating in my room, but it’s too quiet for my taste.”

“Likewise,” replies Loki, wrapping his arms around his knees, eyes lost to the play of light on the reflective buildings. They fall silent again, Natasha sitting primly on her mat, Loki’s hands fidgeting with the wooden deck floorboards. 

“If you want to…” she starts, then sighs. “I know I’m probably the last person you’d feel comfortable talking to, but you look like you need to talk something out and I could listen, if you wanted.”

Loki chuckles mirthlessly, “Strangely enough, it’s easier to speak with you than it is with a certain thunderer in the vicinity.” He falls deep into thought then. Should he tell her? She seems to have him figured out to a certain degree; he remembers their conversation in the pool quite clearly. She’s also a master spy who managed to outwit him a while ago in the helicarrier. Granted, he wasn’t at his best then, but still. She probably knows all he has to say already. And it would be good to have someone to talk to. 

Loki sighs and asks quietly, “Can I be certain you’ll keep my confidence?”

“That sounds very formal,” she answers, but then meets his gaze earnestly to say a simple “Yes.”

When he takes a minute to start talking, she looks at him quizzically. Loki can feel a blush starting under his cheeks, regardless of how cold his skin is when it’s blue like this. “What I will tell you is of a very… personal nature,” he says uncertainly.

“Loki, I’ve been a spy since I was no more than a teenager, there is literally nothing you could say that would surprise me.” 

Loki chuckles, glad that she’s so earnest. “I don’t really know where to start.”

Natasha just stays silent and looks out into the city. 

“Ever since I was younger,” he begins after a minute, “I’ve been second to Thor. While we were raised to have allegedly equal opportunities, it didn’t take me long to realise Odin Allfafther favoured Thor over me in certain situations.”

Natasha hums. 

“There was a time when I wondered whether my mother was attempting to compensate for this in her affections for me.”

“Mama’s boy?” She asks with a wide grin.

“Thoroughly,” replies Loki, smiling fondly at the memory of warm laughter. “In any case, my upbringing was, in most cases, more relaxed than Thor’s. Even if I did not know it then, I was being groomed for the position of advisor, prepared to offer counsel to Asgard’s future king.”

“We knew all this when we met you in Stuttgart,” says Natasha, prompting him.

“Of course,” deadpans Loki. “I’ve told you I had more free time and less responsibilities than Thor. What do you believe this led to in my youth?”

She grins. “A bored, spoiled” Loki makes a sound of protest at that, “prince of Asgard? I can only imagine you—forgive me for being crass—fucking your way through every single lady in the realm.”

“Indeed,” continues Loki, “although my fascination with the ladies did not last. I am… Otherwise inclined.” He’s afraid to look at the spy, but relaxes when she huffs and comments, “Obviously. And I assume you were quite the catch as well?”

He chuckles, then goes serious again. “I created a reputation for myself, and not a flattering one.”

“I can imagine how it went,” she interjects bitterly, standing up from her mat to go and lean her forearms on the railing of the balcony. 

“Yes,” Loki tells her back, “and so later on…” He swallows, takes a deep breath, “the Allfather was disinclined to believe me.”

Natasha turns to look at him, then. Her face is contorted into an expression of both pity and understanding. If the second wasn’t there, Loki would be quite mad. He doesn’t need pity. However, it seems to him that she’s making that face as much for herself as she is for him. This story is old news for her. 

He supposes his own face is mirroring the expression. For a moment, they are both quiet and bask in mutual understanding. Loki has to admit, the last person he imagined he would be able to talk has become one of his closest friends in the time he’s been travelling back and forth to Midgard. 

Natasha remains silent for a moment longer, looking out into the city once more before telling him, “If you ever need anyone to talk it out with, I’m your girl.”

“I appreciate it,” replies Loki.

“Well. It’s my turn to cook breakfast,” she sighs, heading for the elevator. “Want to help me?”

“Certainly,” answers Loki with a chuckle.

_oOo_

As is usual for them, the Avengers pour into the common kitchen one by one, some dragging their feet, some fresh from a shower. Loki hands out plates as soon as Natasha finishes the omelettes they’re having and turns the espresso machine on for everyone to get their caffeine dose.

Tony’s the last to come in, sitting down and immediately laying his head on the table.   
“I am so hungover…” He mumbles into the wooden surface, then requests, “Never let me drink again,” making miserable eyes at Loki.

“Dude,” interjects Clint, “Your own fault. You should know better.”

“Yeah, Mom. Hey Nat, do we have any vodka for a Bloody Mary?” he asks the spy, cracking one eye open.

“Nope,” she replies, “we ran out on Steve’s birthday, remember?” Steve goes bright red in the face, and Thor chokes on his coffee trying to hide a snort. It took some time, but eventually they all decided that Tony should be left to his own devices when drinking. The man has proven that any and all attempts (generally by Steve) to get him to stop drinking will just fail and Tony will get the alcohol he wants or needs, usually aided, strangely, by JARVIS, who has strict orders to obey Tony unless he feels his master’s life is at immediate risk.

“Right! Fun times.” Tony turns to Bruce, who’s finishing a mushroom omelette with gusto, “Brucie, could you hook a brother up with painkillers?”

Banner nods, and when they’re done, they head to Bruce’s lab for the medication. Loki lets out a relieved sigh when they get into the elevator, and can see Natasha give him a quizzical glance out of the corner of his eye. 

“Why couldn’t he just take some aspirin again?” asks Clint to the room at large, starting on clearing the table and handing the plates to Steve at the sink. 

“It’s the reactor, remember?” says Steve. “According to Pepper, he got to a point where over the counter meds just weren’t cutting it. Not to mention the Palladium thing, radiation burns and early onset osteoporosis from having metal plating installed in less than ideal conditions.” He shrugs, “If you ask me, it’s good that he’s consulting Bruce on this.”

Loki has to school his features into a neutral expression after hearing this. If Tony’s team knows this it must be fairly common information, but it still sounds like a delicate situation. However, he feels it’s not his place to ask in detail. Also, Natasha’s been sending him calculating looks the whole morning, and he really doesn’t need her to figure him out before he’s had a chance to do so himself. 

After everyone leaves for the day, Thor to visit Jane, and Steve, Natasha and Clint for SHIELD, Loki grabs a book from his room and heads to the common living room to read. It’s several hours later that Tony walks into the room, tablet held out in front of him and a young voice asking him, “But how can I get it to be lighter without sacrificing firepower?”

“Are we talking legal or illegal here?” Tony says, plopping down on the sofa across from Loki, who raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Tony!” the voice calls from the screen, “If I want to be able to bring it to the contest, it has to be legal AND non-lethal.”

“Well I don’t know about lighter, but you could change the placement of the air cannister and hold it closer to your body, which means that you don’t have to hold it like it’s going to bite you in the face and control it better.”

“What about kickback?” 

“Well, if you hold the gun closer to your body it won’t hit you in the face when it fires. Simple physics, really.”

“Okay, well, I have to go heat up dinner for my sister, but thank you. I’ll call you next week?”

“You bet, buddy,” replies Tony with a smile and a wave before locking the screen of the tablet. 

“Who was that?” Loki asks, trying to make it nonchalant.

“A friend,” says Tony, “I met him a couple of years back and he lent me a Dora the explorer watch.”

Loki’s confused frown must speak for itself because Tony elaborates, “His name’s Harley. Great kid. Bruce says he’s like a mini-me. I basically have my own minion.”

“You’re teaching a child to build guns,” deadpans Loki.

Tony lifts his hands, palms up, in self-defense, “Potato guns. For a state contest. It’s a solid step up from the Mark II, believe me. We have a good chance this year.” He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, zapping through channels.

Loki gives a small smile, turning his attention back to his book. The way Tony talks about Harley is so proud it’s almost dad-like. He’s seen the team interact with children before, witnessed Steve’s patience, Bruce’s teacher-like quality. Thor, as expected, is not good with them. He’s too loud and moves too suddenly, as if he were still growing into his limbs himself. Natasha and Clint though, are naturals. They know just how to make a frightened kid stop crying, will get them to smile very easily, and the children trust them. He hadn’t imagined Tony like that before now. 

After a few moments of trying to stare at the engineer without him noticing, Loki has to give himself a slight shake of the head and get up to go to his room again. This kind of obvious pining is no good and he’s still confused about the dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so writing this chapter I realized two things: 
> 
> 1\. I suck at keeping posting schedules, so I might just as well stop promising I'm going to post soon, since soon usually means a couple months. With that out of the way, I can with a clear conscience promise that I WILL POST! This story is not getting abandoned, I'm far too invested in these two dorks. 
> 
> 2\. I know this is a short-ish chapter (well over 1k less than usual) but I realised that if I wanted to include more in this chapter it would be a monster, so I'd rather post what I have so far now and just keep what's coming separate from this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

9.  
Loki’s now been stranded on Earth for long enough that he’s amassed quite the collection of books he, according to the Avengers, “absolutely must read”. He’s currently enjoying the ingenuity of Tom Sawyer, a recommendation from Captain America, when Jarvis calls for his attention. 

“Master Loki,” he calls in the same disembodied, toneless voice he always does, “Mister Stark requires your assistance in the workshop.”

He sighs, marks down his place in the book and then gets up from his comfy armchair, heading for the elevator. He finds the doors open and the button for the workshop already lit. Although this is odd, he thanks Jarvis as the doors slide closed behind him, chuckling quietly as he imagines Tony’s face lit up with childish glee and excitement about some new discovery, the only thing he believes warrants rushing Loki to the workshop. 

The grin practically melts off his face as soon as the doors open on the workshop level, and he takes long strides to come around the corner of the hallway quickly. The smell of burning flesh is clogging up his nose by now, and when he crosses the reinforced glass doors into the shop proper, he calls out, “Tony?!” 

The whirring of the bots guides his steps around one of the large, metal workbenches Tony was dancing on just a few days ago, and he can finally see the engineer then. Tony’s curled up on the floor, Dum-E and U whirring around him with no idea what to do, and Loki has to shove at them to make room for himself to kneel down next to the man. 

Loki was expecting some burns, based on the smell of the room, but he wasn’t expecting this. There’s an orange glow under certain parts of Tony’s skinand he’s grunting through clenched teeth, thrashing. Strips of his skin are blistering, opening up into sores right in front of Loki’s eyes. Tony seems unable to speak so Loki turns to Jarvis for answers, sparing a moment to stare at his blue Jötun hands before placing them against Tony’s neck.

“Jarvis, report. Show me his vitals and activate the fire alarm.”

The alarm starts blaring seconds before the sprinklers installed on the ceiling activate, drenching them both and making Tony grunt. Cold water on sores and burns must be excruciating. Loki runs a hand through Tony’s hair soothingly, and the man leans into the touch. It takes another few seconds for Jarvis to turn off the siren and start speaking, “Mister Stark injected the modified Extremis technology into his bloodstream,” he AI says, a holographic screen appearing in front of Loki, “He appears to be suffering from heatstroke.”

“Get Banner here,” commands Loki over the sound of dripping water, moving his cold hands from Tony’s neck to his armpits. He hears a panicked whir and looks up just in time to see Dum-E, carrying a fire extinguisher, skid on the puddles around them and slide by. 

“No, Dum-E! There is no actual fire!” He has to yell at the bot, just in time to stop him from dousing Tony in foam. The bot dejectedly sets down the fire extinguisher and resumes his pacing. Loki groans and turns to U, the more reasonable of the robots. 

“Tony was making a set of playing cards,” he tells it, “can you bring it to me?” 

To Dum-E, he says, “I need water for him to drink,” Loki gestures at Tony, “as cold as you can get it.”

The robotic arm shakes up and down in affirmation, then both bots whirr away. The sprinklers overhead turn off.

“Jarvis, where’s Banner?” 

Jarvis is ominously quiet, and Loki already knows he’s not going to like the reply. “I’m afraid Doctor Banner won’t be here anytime soon. I’ll connect you to Miss Romanoff,” resolves the AI. Loki nods, distracted as Tony starts shifting and groaning again. His cold touch seems to help, so he cradles Tony’s head in one hand, the other poking at the holographic screen to zoom in on Tony’s temperature readings. 

“Loki, what’s wrong?” asks Natasha, her face appearing in the lower left corner of the holo-screen. 

“Tony is hurt,” he replies, “Banner was supposed to come help but I think he’s— “ A growl interrupts him, reverberating through the microphone.

“Yep,” deadpans Natasha, already heading for the sounds of the Hulk tearing down some walls, “I’ll take care of Banner and get him to you as soon as I can, and Jarvis will alert the others. Can you stay with Tony, help him as much as you can?”

Loki nods shakily, and Natasha must see it, because she then says, “Loki. Breathe. We’ll be there soon.” She doesn’t seem to have time for more and hangs up. 

Loki takes her advice, breathes deeply, and tries to recall his medical training. Heatstroke. 

The first thing he does is remove Tony’s T-shirt, then his shoes and socks. Even without the cards, he can freeze the moisture that clings to Tony from the sprinklers, so he does that, slowly trickling his magic outwards, fearful of activating the runes on his arms. 

Tony shivers, half-opening hazy eyes to meet Loki’s red gaze. “Lo’,” he mutters vaguely, and Loki squeezes his hand in reassurance, even though he can see new blisters forming on his skin. U arrives with the deck of cards, dropping it into Loki’s lap unceremoniously, and then Dum-E wheels in with a glass of water, handing it over carefully. 

Loki sighs in relief; he can work with this. The deck of cards is an elegant, transparent design, and is made of the thinnest and hardest glass Loki’s ever seen. The two of diamonds is the first card he looks for, calling it with his magic, and then plopping it into the glass of water. It turns to icy slush, and Loki holds it in one hand as he tugs Tony upright with the other. 

There’s a pained gasp at the movement and then Tony’s eyes are blearily meeting his again. “Drink,” orders Loki, leaning the glass of slush to Tony’s lips. He’s only able to drink in small sips, but does so greedily between gasps until he’s done. Loki rolls up Tony’s T-shirt and lays him back down on the floor, propping his head up with the makeshift pillow. 

A glance at the holo-screen tells Loki Tony’s temperature has dropped some, and so he sets out to treat the burns before they start to bleed. He arranges his diamond cards to keep cooling Tony, one on each side of his neck, behind his knees and on his armpits. He’s placing the last two cards over Tony’s liver when the seizure starts. Tony’s eyes roll back, he goes limp and starts shaking uncontrollably. 

Loki tries to tug him so he’s on his side, lets him ride the seizure out, torn between trying to hold him and risking injury, and watching helplessly as his tender, burnt skin tears and bleeds. There’s a lump in Loki’s throat, and his hands fumble and flutter over Tony, shaking. His eyes blur with tears as he mumbles reassurances, mostly to himself, to no avail. 

When the seizure finally passes, Loki feels like he can breathe again. He swallows to clear his throat and, with a shuddery sigh, arranges the playing cards once more. The diamonds to cool Tony off, then the hearts over the worst of the damage to Tony’s skin. His thrashing has torn open some of the sores, especially the ones around his chest and ribs, and so Loki focuses on healing that, lays his cards in a jagged line from Tony’s shoulder to the arc reactor, from just under his left pectoral and almost to his back. After that, it’s just the work of sending out his magic, repairing torn skin and keeping the feverish body cool. 

Loki doesn’t know how long he does this, occasionally moving the heart cards over to the next open sore, but he does notice the moment the first diamond card gives out, his awareness of it flickering, then vanishing. Another follows, and another. Tony’s been unresponsive for a while, but is breathing steadily and twitching slightly, which calms Loki some. He’s also started producing sweat again, which is a good sign. The wrecked scream he lets out next is not. The sound reverberates off the walls of the workshop, echoing inside the room, the force of it arching Tony’s back and sending his heels skittering on the tiled floor.

Tony’s chest is smoking around the reactor, smelling of burnt flesh, and while the inside of the metal casing is insulated against the heat, the skin around the outside is not. Suddenly, Loki understands that, if the casing melts, Tony will die. 

There’s an orange glow that starts under Tony’s skin, just over the reactor, growing and diminishing like a heartbeat. Loki remembers asgardian dragons, thinking about heartstones and legends as he reaches out with his magic for the two Joker cards in the deck, his strongest, placing both at the center of Tony’s bare chest and focusing all of his magic on that one spot, cooling and healing at once. However, it’s a temporary solution. His magic can’t handle being pulled in three directions at once, and the constant waves of energy start to splutter and die as the cards reach capacity.

Loki’s panting with exertion, looking at his blue hands with a betrayed expression, and trying to force more magic into the cards, but it’s no use. Soon, the brands on his arms start to burn, and when Loki ignores it and continues, the runes deliver a nasty shock to his spine, leaving him reeling, hunched over Tony’s prone figure. 

Tony starts whining in discomfort again, and Loki takes his hand, squeezing hard and hoping Tony can feel it, hating how he has this mortal’s life in his hands and can do nothing to help him, has to watch him fade helplessly. Tears gather in his eyes again, and he wipes them away with a snarl, catching sight of the blasted runes on his forearms and gritting his teeth in disgust. 

In the end, it’s easy to decide. The ace of spades is more than sharp enough to slash through the lines of symbols, two on his left arm and two on his right. He cares not for the dark blue blood trickling out of his veins, only has thoughts to grab onto one of Tony’s hands and use the other to channel every last ounce of magic he has left into Tony’s chest. He remains there, almost frozen in place, as his breath grows heavier and his strength starts to disappear, his thoughts only on the magic and the very mortal man beneath him, until he fades to black. 

_oOo_

Loki comes to slowly, aware at first only of his hand holding something warm and solid, then of a bright light behind his eyelids, and finally the sound rushes in. 

“-ki!” Natasha’s now familiar voice calls, “Loki, you can let go now.”

He opens his eyes to the blurry sight of red hair and black clothes, turns to seek a bright blue glow and, as his eyes focus, can finally recognise his own blue arm, Natasha’s hands hovering uncertainly over it, and Tony’s hand clenched in his own, messy with smears of blue blood. 

Jarvis is speaking, explaining Tony’s condition to Bruce, bare-chested but finally there, and Loki catches the word “stable” from the litany and drops Tony’s hand. 

Natasha takes hold of his shoulder, drags him off to the side and helps him sit up against the cot in the corner of the workshop. Loki feels sluggish, knows he should be far more aware but the adrenaline crash from blood loss is coming on fast and so he limply moves as Natasha guides him.

One of the bots whirs by, drops a medical kit at his feet. Natasha grabs it and gets to work cleaning his wounds. It’s a familiar ritual except for how she has to be careful not to touch his bare skin directly. 

“Bruce doesn’t think you need a transfusion,” she tells him quietly, applying gauze to his arm, “just a lot of rest. He did suggest stitches but I don’t think you want that.”

Loki shakes his head at the memory of Thor’s large, strong hands and a needle, not quite sure he’s capable of forming sentences quite yet. He’s tired and irrationally annoyed at nothing in particular. 

“I’ll do butterfly bandages,” Natasha says, already cutting out strips of tape, “but you have to heal these cuts as soon as you have some magic to spare.”

Loki nods dumbly, swallows and then rasps, “Tony?”

“He’ll be fine,” she replies tiredly, “just needs a lot of rest and some meds.” Now that Loki’s eyes are actually able to focus, he can see her split lip and swelling cheek. 

“What happened with Banner?” he asks as she starts to wrap his forearms in bandages. 

She huffs, “Apparently Tony went to him yesterday, asking for his help with injecting Extremis. Bruce didn’t think it was ready to implement yet, wanted to do some trials. Tony and Jarvis both thought the math was sound, and so Tony went and did it anyway. That’s why Bruce hulked.” 

Natasha sighs and Loki can see how tired she is, how her eyes look to the side with worry, how she holds herself stiffly. Tony being an idiot seems to have that effect on all of them. He’s glad the man is stable now, allows himself to start to become angry at Tony’s sheer stupidity. Tony could have died. He very nearly did. And he was told to wait, to run tests, but decided against it anyway. 

Loki pulls himself up to the cot, reclines against the wall, and Natasha follows. For the next half hour, they sit there in companionable silence, waiting for Loki’s head to stop spinning and for news on Tony. Eventually, U nudges Loki’s hand with a small, matte black box. I’t holding his now clean deck of cards. Loki thanks the bot and starts nervously turning the box over and over in his bandaged hands. The cards inside are sending pleasant zaps at him, signalling the slow but certain return of his magic. Natasha’s silent next to him, but he can feel her sharp gaze and knows she’s picking up on this. He feels strong enough again. 

Slowly, he uses magic to nudge the three of clubs towards her, going faster as he feels no significant drain from this, thinking about healing and numbing, his mind working magic around the idea that he’s lucky she was there and she’s lucky the Hulk kind of likes her, until he can stick it to the side of her face. He’s perfectly aware she’s indulged him but as she chuckles, the sides of her eyes crinkling, red curls bouncing, with a playing card stuck to her cheek, Loki feels the corner of his lips turn up. When the card has done what it needed, it flops down between them. 

Natasha looks at him, then lifts her eyebrows, nudging him. With a sigh, he pulls out a couple of heart cards and lays them over the bandages on his arms. He has to go slow since the heart cards are all but depleted, but he can get enough out of them to hold his own skin together, joining the edges of the runes he slashed through. 

“Jarvis?” he prompts with a curious frown, “can you reconstruct what the runes on my arms look like now?” 

Wordlessly, Jarvis projects a screen in front of them, showing Loki’s arms with their respective spells and the gashes, the norse writing all but destroyed now. Loki hums, takes out the seven of clubs thinking of deceit and disguises, and to his surprise, his fingertips lose their blue colour where they’re touching the card, pale pink spreading out instead, running over his arms, torso and finally, his face. He can feel the shift as it happens, a rush of warmth over his skin as he again grows used to not giving off cold. 

“Heh,” he breathes out, surprised and amused that he’s allowed this, that his magic is back under his control after almost half a year. Natasha touches his hand, smirking at him when her fingers don’t freeze, and at this he starts giggling uncontrollably, the tip of his tongue stuck to his teeth as his chest shakes with laughter. 

“I’m gonna miss the smurf look for fight practice,” she says between chuckles, but her hand never lets go of his. 

“What now?” she asks after they’ve calmed down, and Loki’s eyes lose focus as he gets lost in thought.

He’s been waiting for his magic to come back in order to formulate yet another scheme to take over the throne of Asgard and free Sleipnir, but when he thinks about it in those terms he realises he’s tired of it. He’s done with fruitless schemes and plots, is furious at himself for even trying some, and would just like to be able to hold his son. He smirks sadly. It would be all too easy to just tell Tony, he has faith that the engineer would think up a plan and offer to help. However, Loki can’t in good conscience ask him to do that without first sorting out what Tony means to him. What they mean to each other, an optimistic part of his brain says. And however nice that would be, right now Loki is still pissed off at Tony’s impulsive nature, at his selfishness. 

It’s a good while after Natasha asked her question that he finally answers with one of his own. “Did you tell Thor what happened?”

She nods, her face serious, as if she knows exactly what’s going through his mind. While this ability of hers normally unsettles him, right now he finds it reassuring. 

“I think,” he pauses, not really wanting to speak his mind and turn his thoughts into a reality but knowing he owes it to himself, “I need to leave the tower.”

Natasha nods and Loki can immediately tell she’s been expecting this. 

“I need space, and I have some matters to discuss with my brother.”

“He should be about to arrive,” she says calmly, but he doesn’t miss the glint in her eyes at Loki’s words, as if she knows just what his calling Thor ‘brother’ means. “You should tell Bruce before you go, and I believe you need to say goodbye to Tony as well.”

Loki takes a deep breath, nods. 

It’s the work of minutes to find Banner in Tony’s living room and explain he’s leaving for an indefinite amount of time to go with Thor, and then he’s allowed to see Tony. The man is deeply asleep, sedated as Banner told Loki, but his condition is stable and he’ll be perfectly healthy once he wakes up. Loki feels relief so strong his knees nearly buckle, watching this very mortal man take a few deep breaths without being in mortal danger. He has to fight the urge to run a hand through Tony’s hair in the same way that had reassured him earlier, choosing instead to grab his hand and then placing one of the Jokers from his deck in Tony’s palm. 

Loki sighs and chuckles at himself, at the fact that he’s trying too hard to bury his affection for this engineer, and then lets go of Tony’s hand, leaving it closed around the Joker. He can hear thunder overhead. It’s time to go and find Thor. 

Thor almost smothers him in a hug, asking over and over if he’s alright. Once reassured, he agrees very quickly to take Loki with him to Jane’s in New Mexico. He gets a handshake from Banner, and a hug from Natasha. She manages to extract a promise to call from him, and whispers a cryptic, “Come back and figure your shit out,” into his ear. He’s nodding before he can truly comprehend what she’s asking, but then again there wasn’t any doubt of his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while but the next chapter's here! And don't worry, Loki won't be gone too long, I still need to get these dorks together :)


	10. Bad (ish?) News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, me continuing to muddle my way through this story is kind of impossible. I'm months away from getting my bachelor's degree and school is driving me NUTS atm.

So, like you maybe read above, I can't keep up with this story anymore. It hurts to say it, but I think you guys (and the story itself, I have put so much thought into the plot of this!) deserve me spending more time writing this than I can spare right now. I've been getting more and more comments lately where it's clear that what I'm trying to convey is not coming through. This, I can say with complete confidence, is a mistake on MY part. 

It doesn't matter how clear the chapters are to me, trying to write 6 or 7 pages every three months and having it be cohesive and flow nicely is just hoping for too much. So I'm left with short, disjointed chapters where it's become more and more apparent that I sometimes have no idea what I'm writing.

I would like to give you more. You deserve more. The story deserves more. And I can't keep up.

So, the main message of this is, THIS STORY IS GOING ON HIATUS. 

This was a difficult choice, because I love writing this verse, and Tony and Loki are goals, and Natasha is BAMF. However, it was necessary. 

So, what now? 

Well, I'll probably keep writing on my own time, and will edit the chapters as I go, because I'm doing almost a full rewrite of this sometime, but I can't promise when. I'm not abandoning this fic, however, it will take me a while to get back up to speed on it. 

I would like to thank you all for your support, kudos, comments, and subscriptions, and I'll see you again ;)

 

TL;DR: 

THIS STORY IS GOING ON INDEFINITE HIATUS, AND WILL AT SOME POINT IN THE FUTURE GET A REWRITE. NOT ABANDONED, BUT I CAN'T COMMIT TO A SCHEDULE OR ANY SORT OF TIMELINE.


End file.
